


Copyright N ° TIB cx, 


CJDEMRIGRT DEPOSED 

CO PV 








THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


WILL J. BLOOMFIELD 


THE BARON OF 
THE BARRENS 


BY 


WILL J. BLOOMFIELD 

ii 



Publishers DORRANCE Philadelphia 

(yU-12, 



























Copyright 1923 
Dorrance Sc Company Inc 



< 



Manufactured in the United State* of America 


© Cl A 6 a 2 C 1 5 

JAN-3’23 l 

v % 




To 

that stanch friend who perused the chapters of the story as 
fast as penned and who stoutly encouraged me or urged me on 
when my spirits were low or interest lagged— Vance D. 
Brown, of Reynoldsville, Pennsylvania. 












CONTENTS 


I Shadows of Coming Events. 11 

II The Hillside-Mooney .. 20 

III The Missing Link . 33 

IV Jerushy . 37 

V The Tentacles of the Octupus Begin to 

Move . 50 

VI The “Act” at the Arlington Cafe. 61 

VII Cabin Raising at Hermit Spring . 71 

VIII Home ,. 80 

IX Heather from the Braes*... 86 

X Wherein Jean Practices Elusion. 93 

XI “How Uncle Fuller Done the Town”.... 101 
XII Wherein Cadmus Takes a Peep Into the 

Future . 110 

XIII The Ballet of the Birds and Milton. 123 

XIV The School, the Whistler and the Storm .. 140 
XV Wherein James Makes Two Discoveries .. 153 

XVI In Front of the Goldstein Emporium .... 166 

XVII Three Dreams . 172 

XVIII Christmas on Nubbin Ridge . 185 

XIX The Mysterious Card . 199 

XX The Parting of the Ways. 201 

XXI Wherein Old Milt Presents a Dual Face.. 213 
XXII “Watchful Waiting” . 226 

XXIII Nancy Dawson . 236 

XXIV Wherein a Shadow Plays a Conspicuous 

Part . 247 

XXV What Nitroglycerin Did for the Wildcat 

Well ...‘. 255 

XXVI After Five Years . 268 

XXVII Back to the Barrens. 274 

CXVIII “And It Shall Come to Pass That at 

Evening Time It Shall Be Light”.. 278 

XXIX Back' to Scotland. 282 

XXX America. 290 

Aftermath . 295 




























✓ 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


♦ 




» 

















\ 


The Baron of the Barrens 

i 

Shadows of Coming Events 

To be accurate, geographically, the “Barrens” overspread 
the entire southern part of Sal King township, in the 
foothills of the Alleghenies. As the name implied, it lay 
a vast waste—rocky hills almost nude of timber—a solemn 
desert, but for animal life, vying with the Sahara. After 
the passing of the primeval forest, devastating fires swept 
over it at periods, preventing growth taller than bushes, 
which in turn succumbed to the inevitable flames. Of the 
virgin forest, there yet remained an occasional tall dead 
tree, usually limbless, standing out against the sky, a 
ghost of the past. To the common observer, this desolate 
region could be of no use further than to help hold together 
the world’s great mass. But to the naturalist, or the pros¬ 
pector, it might have hinted at latent treasure held within 
its bosom. 

Who possessed this forbidding expanse of landscape? 
That, even, was vague. Records in the archives at the 
court-house would show, but no one ever believed it worth 
research. 

The topographical relief north of the Barrens was the 
Nubbin Ridge country, divided by a deep, narrow valley, 
dark and damp with hemlock and birches, down through 
which the placid waters of Hazel Fork flowed singing of 
the hills until they joined the river far down in the bottom 
lands. 

Nubbin Ridge was a long, broad fold of land, not so 
lofty as the Barrens, and hillocked over the top. It was a 
picturesque stretch of country to the eye of the landscape 
artist, but unprofitable in the practical view of the agricul- 

11 


12 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


turist. Here were heaps of rocks tumbled together and 
groves of stunted, gnarled oaks spreading their tops like 
gigantic umbrellas; in the dells, there were the birches 
through which meandered sparkling brooks over pebbly 
ways and amid tall ferns and grasses; here, again, were 
copses of wild plum bushes and the thorn; in the moist, 
dark places were clumps of laurel and the rhododendron; 
here were wild bush honeysuckles that in season of bloom 
flashed acres of pink blossoms. Wild grape-vines trellised 
themselves on the low trees, and in autumn blue clusters 
of the fruit hung festooned from the branches; clambering 
over some tall dead tree-trunk the woodbine created a pillar 
of green, to be changed by frost into a tower of red. 

This stretch of country was thinly inhabited. Between 
clearings, there were usually acres of rocky woodland. The 
people, amid the riot of flowers, the air honeyed with the 
wild crab-apple, and the song of the brooks in the grassy 
meadoWvS, should have tingled with poetry; but their 
thoughts never left the earth. Their crops grew only with 
constant care, and they tussled with the things in life 
remote from the romantic. Agriculture on Nubbin Ridge 
was a reproach to husbandry, and the people, reared on a 
thin and grudging soil, fitted their environment. They 
saw things with a hollow eye and a harsh unsympathetic 
laugh. They never used a joke as a companion to mirth; 
they viewed it as an instrument of torture. Away to the 
north, they could look over a fine rolling farm-country— 
look into Canaan; but entrance they were forbidden. They 
were a people set apart and a law unto themselves. 

One warm afternoon in middle September, old Milt 
Cobb came home from Petrolia and after shoving the old 
dog outdoors, appropriated his late seat, an old splint- 
bottom rocking chair, and settled himself where he could 
look out the back door. The only view from that point of 
vantage was the cheerless Barrens across the hollow. Neck 
outstretched, on this expanse his eyes were riveted, oblivi¬ 
ous to the old woman near him. She sat by the table 
paring peaches, the old brindle cat purring at her feet. 
She had not given her spouse a look till he w r as in and 
settled, the while whetting her tongue for domestic fric- 


SHADOWS OF COMING EVENTS 


13 


tion. But when silence grew disturbing, she turned, sat 
bolt upright and threw her searchlight full upon him. 
When under the influence of Petrol ia brew, he would sit 
with his head lolled over like an old hawk, but now, with 
head thrust out the door, he was looking intensely contem¬ 
plative. He was not drunk; but she guessed the matter. 
He was the celebrated yarn fabricator of Nubbin Ridge, 
to her everlasting mortification. They were to attend an 
apple-paring that night at Henshaws’ and he was now 
pluming his muse to be ready with some legend as cus¬ 
tomary. 

“I s’pose it’s to be a million coons ’n’ foxes with fire¬ 
brands to their tails, runnin’ across the Barrens tonight, 
with the Hillside-Mooney close after them, the whole 
country lit up for fifty miles aroun’, or some sich a mess 
ye’re bound to tell at Henshaws’,” she snarled—the sound 
as cold as iced water. 

He turned his face to meet her, a broad face full of 
humor, fringed with white beard, but now wearing the look 
of being caught up into the seventh heaven. He cleared 
his throat, then in a voice that boomed out like a signal 
gun, began: “Ibby, I’ve the fetchin’est piece o’ news fer 
ye, beatin’ even the time when our tenth child was born. 
’Tain’t that I fergot to git the cloth fer yer gingham skirt 
today. But”—he paused as her eyes cut at him like the 
swing of a sharp scythe—her face the whole keyboard of 
sharps-—eyes, hawk-bill nose, cheekbones, and chin. Yet 
she was too full for utterance. 

He took advantage of it and boomed on: “But tomorrer, 
I’m goin’ back to town an’ git it jest as sure’s my name’s 
Milt Cobb. But the news, the news , Ibby, the real news 
is about the Barrens. The worthless Barrens! Drillin’ is 
to soon start on them fer oil. ’N’ th’ news of it so upsot 
my captations today that I fergot—” 

She started to cut in but he raised a hand to parry the 
impending thrust and proceeded: “If they find oil over 
there, w’y we’re so near, likely we’ll have it. Then ye 
won’t want to wear gingham, an}>way. Ye’ll want to gown 
up like the Queen o’ Sheby. Stop, Mis’ Cobb, right where 
ye are till I tell ye. Ye know oP John Snowdon, the oil 


14 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


king o’ Petrolia. Quit now ’n' git yer chair over here to 
the door while I tell ye.” 

“Likely to be some lie agin bigger V a haystack/’ she 
dung. 

“After I’d sold my eggs, today,” he continued, unmind¬ 
ful of the caustic touch, “I wound up oh Nance to a tele¬ 
phone pole ’n’ started as innocent as ye please”—here the 
muscles of her face gave a discrediting twitch—“fer the 
New York Bazaar to git that gingham, to all intents and 
purposes, when I meets oP Snowdon ridin’ up in his 
pleasure car. He motions to me, V has his shoffer stop the 
car ’n’ I goes up to him ’n’ he shakes ban’s lovin’ly an’ 
saiz: ‘ Milt, yer jest the man I want ter see. Git into the 
car,’ saiz ’e. ’N’ I ’lowed I didn’t care to take a joy ride 
in my bizness suit ’n’ he laughs ’n’ bggered we didn’t meet 
ev’ry day ’n’ to git in. ’N’ I didn’t think so much o’ ridin’ 
with him fer ye know I’m the bell sheep here on the Ridge 
in matters o’ pollyticks; ’n’ them town fellers alius keep 
an’ eye on me jest afore ’lection fer they know as I swing, 
so swings the Ridge. My name’s alius in the paper ’bout 
that time—” 

“Yes, ’n’ I cut out the last mention of ye last winter 
’n’ pasted it in my scrap-book,” interrupted Aunt Ibby in a 
revengeful way. “Thought cornin’ generations might like 
to read about their ancestor.” 

“ ’Member how it read, Ibby ?” he ventured after a brief 
pause. For there had been mention of him not particularly 
savory at times in the paper. 

“Remember it? Yes. It read: ‘Jest as we go to press, 
old Mjlt Cobb of Nubbin Ridge come in with a rabbit. 
He is a wonderfully well-pickled old man. He has lived 
to decorate with lilacs the graves of those who have perished 
in three wars. He has seen his own promissory notes rise, 
flourish, and decay.’ Them’s the very words.” 

Milton looked sober. He was uncertain whether the 
notice was a reflection or otherwise; whether it was cast 
at social position or political standing. If the former, he 
would treat it as piffle. Soon he arrived at the conclusion 
that his political eminence was unassailed, however, in 
the article, and proceeded: “Wal, I saiz, I can’t ride with 


SHADOWS OF COMING EVENTS 


15 


ye, today Ye see I’m bizzy pickin’ out my deeply beloved 
pard’ner a gingham shirt—” 

“Merciful heavens!!!” she yelled, dropping her paring 
knife and peach. 

—“skirt, I saiz, an’ it’s goin’ to take time an’ an awful 
cool head.” 

Here x\unt Ibby effectually stopped him. Weary of the 
preliminary jargon, she demanded the name of the new¬ 
comer of the Barrens and if there was any assurance of 

%/ 

an oil development, or if it was just some of his moon¬ 
shine again? From his haggling way of talking, she got 
a hazy idea that a certain James Snowdon, Jr., was the 
possessor of the Barrens and purposed to test the territory 
for oil; that he was a nephew of the grand mogul, John 
Snowdon, of Petrolia, and that between the pair, there 
existed estrangement. The elder Snowdon attached some 
claim to the territory, not patent to Cobb, but was anxious 
for the young man to prospect unmolested, though he 
wished quick and first-hand information as to results. He 
desired Cobb, secretly, to secure him samples of oil sands, 
if any were found, and for the clandestine work, had prom¬ 
ised attractive compensation. 

When this much of the story had been unfolded, the old 
people lapsed into silence, both busy with their thoughts. 
Slowly the old woman’s face began to light up, and golden 
visions of days free of toil softened her toward her way¬ 
ward partner. What news! 

“Hear me! I wonder how ’twould feel to be rich,” she 
sighed, folding her tired hands in her lap and allowing 
herself to play with vanity. 

“Oh, I’d first have to git a cooper to hoop ye to keep 
3 r e from bustin’,” chuckled the old man, glad to know her 
ruffled feelings were mollified and that peace would reign 
over the cabin for some time to come. 

Yes, vanity had pricked her already. “There’s one thing 
we’d want to do in pertickler, Pa, if they start drillin’: 
have our pickters took before strikin’ oil, then d’rectly 
after.” 

“We’d want to go to a beauty doctor first ’n’ have our 
faces overhauled to fit the camery,” he pestered. 


16 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


She rose and went to the door unmindful of the jest. In 
that direction, for half a century, she had watched the sun 
go down on the Barrens with a feeling of loneliness. Now 
it had suddenly changed into a land of promise. As she 
shaded her eyes with a hand and gazed over the waste, 
the scenery presented a new and strange appearance. It 
was a summer’s afternoon. Nature had been decking her 
autumnal costume with varied hues, as if testing colors ere 
she donned the whole resplendent robe. Scattered maples 
lent tints of yellow and crimson, while clusters of sumac 
flashed scarlet. Thickets of wild plum bushes vied with 
oaks in touches of sombre red. The vastness of it all, 
this great mantle spreading away to the horizon where 
the hill-tops met the sky in waves of blue, inspired within 
her a feeling of reverence. 

Back of her, on a shelf, the old clock buzzed out five, 
breaking the golden dream. Her mind reverted to the 
promoter of the enterprise. “Where is the young man? 
Does he live in Petrolia ?” she asked, turning to the old 
man. 

“No,” he replied, raking a match on the bare floor to 
light his pipe. “He’s supposed to be on the road some¬ 
where now ’tween here ’n' Oklahomy. He’s been out in 
that oil field for some time.” 

She sat down. “Looks like his uncle is going to play the 
cat ’n’ mouse game with him, don’t it?” Then she added 
reflectively, “Ye don’t intend to meddle in their affairs?” 

“I dunno,”—seriously. 

Her brow darkened. She straightened up and regarded 
him with an eye of contempt. “Ye don’t know? Ye better 
not go to pokin’ yer nose in what’s none of yer affairs. 
If I can’t have an honest livin’, I don’t want any.” 

He was silent on that point as he blew smoke upwards 
and watched it curl with half-shut eye. 

“Ain’t the ol’ rascal ’fraid ye’ll tell what he’s up to?” 
she questioned. 

“No” 

“Nor me?” 

“He knows we won’t blab this.” 

“Like to see him or any other man make me hold my 


SHADOWS OF COMING EVENTS 


17 


tongue when it comes to fixin' up jobs like ye two seem 
bent on,” she challenged. 

“Ye’ll hold it all right when I tell ye he’s bought the 
mortgage that hangs over yer head an’ll foreclose it first 
time he hears any leaks from here.” 

Down came her air castle of a moment ago, the highest 
one she had ever built, clattering about her ears. A life¬ 
time of work and scrimping had failed to pay the purchase 
price of their home, for there had been many children, 
and returns from the soil had been small. Though the 
children were gone from the home most of the debt still 
clung. Little more than the interest had ever been paid; 
but the mortgage had been in lenient hands till John 
Snowdon, the reputed Shylock of the country, had now 
swooped down on them unexpectedly with it. A dark 
shadow loomed. But if the old man could be brought to 
do shadowy things, the sky might clear. They were 
trapped, artfully trapped. No, she would never consent 
to have him practice knavery on young Snowdon, whoever 
or whatever he might be, to save her home. And they 
would be ousted at last. She gazed despairingly around 
her. In this little old cabin stuck up on the sheltered side 
of a hill, all the days of her married life had come and 
gone. Her children, the pride of her heart, had all been 
born here, and memories clung around the spot. Her chil¬ 
dren were ne’er-do-wells; little help could be expected 
from that quarter. She would only add to their burden 
when the time came for her to leave her quiet retreat and 
be cast upon their mercy. Her face was now, indeed, a 
picture of misery as she turned to old Milt who was yet 
blowing smoke. “Is there no way to save us? I’ll never 
hear to yer bein’ a snake in the grass to this young man 
what’s cornin’?” 

“Now see here, Ibby, don’t ye see that sun over there 
that’s never failed us?” he asked courageously, pointing to 
the golden ball slowly sinking. 

“Yes, but it’s goin’ down. Milt,”—disconsolately. 

“To rise agin as fair as ever it shone before.” 

“Not to us. Milt.” 

“Don’t be alarmed, ol’ woman. I’m goin’ to match wits 


18 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


with old John Snowdon. I’ll beat the devil with his- own 
pitch-fork, yit, V that's the only way to tight him. Yes, 
wait for a tomorrer. Old John won’t foreclose right away 
and we’ll see what the young man is like. They hate each 
other like torment; and I’m jest waitin’ and anxious to 
meet this young feller an’ mebby things’ll take a happy 
turn when he gits ’round. Somethin’ says it will. The 
-earth may whirl off ’n’ its ax afore old John shoots his 
pizen. He fears me. He said he’d hearn I’se slippery as 
an eel an’ hell fer lawin’, but to look out. He would stan’ 
no nonsense, but if I brought him the truth, he’d clear the 
mortgage.” 

“I’m afeerd, Milt.” 

“Ye git warm biscuits *n’ hone}- for supper an’ I’ll take 
care o’ the Snowdon kit,” he said, starting to build a fire 
in the old stove. He endeavored to sing as the old woman 
moved with heaviness of heart to prepare their meal. The 
burden of his song was a dissertation on the situation of 
the present,— 

“Old John Snowdon was a settin’ out to rob, 

His own blood relation, usin’ Uncle Milt Cobb; 

While Iby was a grievin’ why old Milt could sing, 

Trustin’ in a measure what another day might bring.” 

Just at this period of the nasal minstrelsy, a loud 
rap sounded on the front door, accompanied by a 
young man’s full-lunged rippling laugh. The old people 
were somewhat set back—she standing with a rolling pin 
in hand, he with the stove-griddle lifter completing the 
picture of domestic drama. 

The old dog now went barking around the house and 
they heard some one say, “The Nubian lion is let loose.” 
The knock was repeated while the voice began to coax the 
dog. Then a second voice joined in. 

The old man stared at Aunt Ibbv. “D’ye s’pose they 
ketched what I’se a singin’?” he asked in a hoarse whisper. 

“No more’n they could understand the bellerin’ of a 
bull,” she returned. 

The door sagged and dragged and was never used save 


SHADOWS OF COMING EVENTS 


19 


on state occasions. But the old man began pulling at the 
stubborn portal, while the dog renewed his howls of dis¬ 
satisfaction over the visitors. The musical voice again 
sought to pacify him. The old man yanked more stoutly 
and the door began to yield. 

“I’ll have ’er open in a minute, boys. Don’t mind the 
dog. The old varmint, like his master, hain’t nary a tooth 
in his jaws.” 


II 


The Hillside-Mooney 

The door was obdurate. It had yielded several times by 
inches but now it was hanging tenaciously and old Milt’s 
tugging and wrenching no longer made the slightest 
impression. 

“Boys, guess veil have to use the back door to the 
king’s castle,” he boomed, baffled. 

“If you desire, I’ll put my shoulder to it, Uncle,” came 
one of the voices from outside. 

“Crash ’er in.” 

Ho sooner was the order given than the door yielded 
with such swiftness from a force seemingly suffcient to 
have moved the house from its foundation that it sent old 
Milt flying backward upon the floor. Then followed the 
stranger, looking surprised, troubled, as he lifted old Milt 
up. 

“Have I hurt you?” he asked solicitously when he had 
the old man upright once more. 

Old Milt stood looking dazed. He had been down and 
up so quickly that nerve action had not communicated as 
yet the effect of the sudden drop and rise. He was cogi¬ 
tating whether he had ever before made a round trip 
between two given points with such velocity. Uppermost 
in his mind was motion; no thought yet of pain. He was 
steadfastly regarding the place where the phenomenon had 
transpired. He viewed the door—the machinery used in 
the first part of the trip. That seemed unimpaired, intact. 

“Are you hurt, Mr. Cobb?” came the question again, 
more seriously. 

He looked up. “N-o-o; but I’m jest a wonderin’ what 
kind of a gyration that was I’ve jest passed through,”— 
said with such drollery that back went the stranger’s head 
in a fit of laughter. 


20 


THE HILLSIDE-MOONEY 


21 


When he regained composure, he extended his hand say¬ 
ing: “My name is Snowdon; Jim Snowdon, or the Baron 
of the Barrens. Yes, owner of the Barrens. Going to test 
that barren country for oil. Consequently will be a 
neighbor of yours for a time. Step in, Cad. Mr. Cobb, 
this is my friend and co-worker, Mr. Allen.” 

“ Tis, hey.” But Milt did not shift his eyes from Snow¬ 
don. The mail’s appearance was striking. Had Milt’s lore 
ever reached the Scandinavian chapter, he would have pro¬ 
nounced him a Viking in form, but as it was he mentally 
said: “Tall and straight as a Huron.” Snowdon’s face 
was bronzed from a southern sun, the forehead white under 
the broad-rimmed hat. The merry twinkling eyes were 
of that peculiar blue in which innocence merges with mis¬ 
chief. The features were regular, but for the jaw which 
was slightly accentuated, denoting firmness. As he re¬ 
moved his hat, a wealth of shining chestnut-brown hair 
came into view. His maimer had the grace of a knight ; 
but Milt’s mind embraced not his elegance. His survey 
took in only the muscular man, the Herculean frame, the 
strength attendant. Wonderingly, he exclaimed: “Swan ! 
1 thought the hut was goin’ when you took that reef on 
it! Ye any relation o’ that feller that upset the meetin’ 
house back there in old times?” 

“Possibly. Samson or Goliath,” laughed the powerful 
James. “Difficult to trace lineage from Yankeeland back 
to that meeting house buster, though. But we are looking 
for a lodging place till we get moved in. Can you keep us 
over night at least?” 

“How does that strike ye, Ma ?” inquired Milt, turning 
to his worthy consort. 

“Guess we kin,” was the muffled and indifferent reply, 
though it was the thing she most sought at the time. 

Both men stepped outside again then re-entered with 
suit-cases. 

“This way, gentlemen,” said the spirited host, proudly, 
as he led them into a small, cluttered room of which the 
chief appointments were an ancient four-poster bed and 
miscellaneous wall hangings, antique and grotesque. James 


22 THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 

espied an “At Rest” plate hanging over the head of the 
bed. 

“This house wasn’t built fer much comfort; jest built in 
a pinch for tew pinch, I guess,” said the host apologetically 
as he descried Snowdon’s hair brushing the ceiling and 
Allen with a mischievous look trying the space between bed 
and wall. 

“Just fits us,” said Snowdon, hanging his hat on a nail. 

“Place yer sarpy-kacks over in there at the foot o’ the 
bed,” continued the old man laboring to w r edge them in. 
“Goin’ to drill for oil, hey?” 

“Yup. You people up this way will be wearing dia¬ 
monds once she gets to spouting,” promised James. 

“Haw! haw! haw! Rings in our noses YF ears, I s’pose. 
OF Fin Henshaw ’ll look like a Feejee Islander with big 
round hoops in them pie-plant ears o’ his’n. What did ye 
say this other chap’s name was?” turning to Allen. 

“Allen; Cad Allen,” Allen nonchalantly answered, at the 
same time touching the strings of an old bass viol that 
hung on the wall. It emitted a rillet of sound, dolefully 
deep. 

“Say, gents, she’s been an old rip snorter in her time,” 
said the old man with glowing pride. “This evenin/ 
likely’s not, I’ll set her to talkin’.” 

“Do,” urged Snowdon, seating himself on the bed. “But, 
say, Uncle, we’d like to separate from some of this soft 
coal smut.” 

“Out to the trough by the spring. Come on, boys. 
Say, ye fellers, I see, is as common as the pigs. I know 
we’ll have a rip stavin’ good old time while yer ’mong us.” 
And Milt danced along ahead, out the back door, along a 
path that led bv a row of frost-peach trees loaded with 
fruit, then up to a steep bank. From beneath a great gray 
rock, there gushed a fountain of bright water which might 
have been the haunt of naiads when the world was new. 
Down a small log spout from the spring, glided a cold, 
silvery stream that leaped into a great log trough below. 

“Oh man, I’d cross a continent for this bird bath!” ex¬ 
claimed the begrimed James as he dipped great handfuls 


THE HILLSIDE-MOONEY 


23 


of the cooling water, blowing and spluttering when it 
splashed his face. 

Greatly revived they threw themselves down on the fresh 
grass that grew thickly around the spring to bask in the 
last rays of the sun, now dropping behind the distant hills. 
Extremely warm it was for September. They had traveled 
far and were greatly fatigued. At Petrolia, seven miles 
away, they had left the cars, planning to make the rest 
of the journey by automobile; but when they arrived at the 
beginning of the Nubbin Ridge country just after the road 
left the main artery of travel, the driver refused to con¬ 
tinue the “excursion,” as he termed it. The road had be¬ 
come guttered and tortuous. No amount of persuasion, 
no hire could induce him to climb higher. 

“Why, boys, nothing but a flying machine can get you 
up in there where them catamounts live,” he had said. 
“Deduct from the bill to suit yourselves. How much will 
satisfy me? 0, split it—make it two. You can walk it 
now 0. K. Hide your baggage and get some o’ them sure¬ 
footed hillsmen to tote it up. Do it for a nickel. Can’t 
be over a mile now up to old Milt Cobb’s shack. There’s 
where you’d better camp. Guess he’s a little the best o’ 
them but the whole pack ain’t much to brag on. Hope to 
meet you again if you ever emerge into the clearin’. So 
long!”—and he was off. 

They had hidden such of their paraphernalia as they 
were unable to carry in a thicket by the roadside, and the 
place of concealment, James now described to Uncle Milt, 
who promised to bring everything up on his horse that 
evening. James then felt free to survey the Barrens. 
Waving his hand in the direction of the rocky hills he 
rhetorically declaimed: “Five thousand acres of that para¬ 
dise—the world’s offal. Yet under it lies strata that may 
make a Rothschild of me yet.” 

“Did ye ever behold it afore?” inquired old Milt with a 
foxy grin as he squatted on the grass beside them and 
hugged his knees with his arms. 

“Yes; five years ago I explored a portion of it—enough 
at the time to make me soul sick.” 

“I sho’d a thought it ’ud a give ye spinal-men-git-us 


24 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


instid o* soul trouble, if ve tramped it. Funny to me why 
ye ever bought it.” 

“Didn’t.” 

“Passed down to ye from Father Adam, eh?” 

“My father.” 

“Owed ye a deep grudge ?” 

“He never saw it.” 

“Wal, be ye kith or kin o’ the Petrolia Snowdons ?” 

“John Snowdon of Petrolia is my uncle.” 

“Did he ever own the Barrens ?” 

Quick glances were exchanged at this question. James 
held his own gaze steady but Milt’s was quickly averted. 
Penetration, Jim felt, was Milt’s gift. James had come to 
a period. When he stood at the door rapping, he had 
caught this much of Milt’s improvised song: “John Snow¬ 
don—to rob,” and this only, for just here he had been 
seized with a fit of uncontrollable laughter at the ridicu¬ 
lous rhapsody and so failed to catch more. But it was 
enough to put him on his guard. How much did old Milt 
know of his business and for whose benefit would it be 
accounted? The cryptic look he threw at the old man 
thwarted a positive understanding. To Milt it could mean 
nothing but “do not meddle.” He demurred at further in¬ 
quiry in that line but his curiosity unsatisfied, veered and 
came on again. 

“When I first come into this country, ’n’ that was so 
long ago these hills round here was little holes in the 
ground, that tract was owned by a Newark oil company. 
They sold the timber but the land”—here he paused as if 
expecting Snowdon to step into the opening and clear the 
chain of titles; but his quarry remained reticent, sufficient 
evidence, that he did not care to be interviewed further. 
“Wal, I hope ye git the juice anyway,” Milt finally con¬ 
cluded. 

“Wonder if the territory was ever tested for oil?” ven¬ 
tured Allen as he rolled over and propped his head on his 
hands. 

“Might a been—God only knows,” and Milt also turned 
his head, creating the impression that he likewise had 
arrived at a place of no tell-tales, thank you, Mr. Allen. 


THE HILLSIDE-MOONEY 


25 


The answer, clearly affirmation, caused Allen’s eyes to di¬ 
late. 

“What you goin’ to do with your Garden of Eden over 
there if you don’t strike oil, Jim?” Cad asked. 

“Still my star will be in the ascendant. Convert it into 
a bloomin’ sheep ranch—you a shepherd in kilts with a 
crook to fare forth with the collies and foster the flocks,” 
was the response, so quick as to have been a studied conclu¬ 
sion. 

Allen snorted. “So that’s why vou sometimes allude to 
yourself as the ‘Baron of the Barrens’ is it ?” 

“If ye don’t find oil, goin’ into sheep, hey? They’s big 
money in sheep these times ’n’ them hills was built fer 
sheep-paster if you’d keep the sheep shod. But 1 feel it 
in my jints yer goin’ to find oil. In these hills, they’s 
oil. I know it,” emphatically averred Milt. 

“There should be something in them; nothing on top. 
Is there a level spot on the whole thing large enough to 
rest on without danger of rolling off?” derisively inquired 
Allen. 

“N-n-n-yes. See that blue-lookin’ hill that humps up 
over there beyond this first great stone heap?” said old 
Milt pointing. “The top o’ that ornament runs back in a 
long ridge. ’N’ there lays at least five hundred acres of as 
fine, level ground as ever lay out door. But to git to it, 
laurel hill! ye’d want a balloon. They’s kind of an old 
road winds up there on the other side of it; comes up 
from the Comfort and Petrolia pike; ’bout four mile up 
there from Comfort. Jest at the edge o’ that level ground 
in one place at the very top o’ the hill, is a spring o’ water 
that’s a world curiosity; comes out from under a monster 
rock bigger’n any meetin’-house. They hain’t anuther rock 
anywhere near it. The bottom o’ the spring is level rock. 
It’s a sight. It’s called Hermit Spring. An old feller 
by the name o’ Trotter used to live in there by it alone an’ 
that give it the name. He hunted ’n’ fished, picked ber¬ 
ries ’n’ sold a salve that he made, for a livin’. Speakin’ o’ 
that salve, it was a puller all right; draw hair out on a 
mud-turtle’s shell overnight. But he got old ’n’ died there. 
He was queer in his ways. When you see the way he fixed 


26 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


up 'round that spring, you’ll say it’s the home o’ the 
fairies: walks, rustic seats, trees trimmed to grow in queer 
shapes, bowers o’ flowers ’n’ grasses 'V ferns—little chan¬ 
nels o’ water runnin’ among ’em; then a little pond to 
look like a lake with a little green island in it. Kept fish 
in that. Folks used to go ’n’ camp there—’specially berry 
pickers—till the big scare come on, ahem!” 

“Some animal?” interrogated Allen. 

The question was what old Milt craved. He was hoping 
for it and forthwith launched his legend, all sails to the 
breeze. “Hillside-Mooney,” he responded. 

“Hillside-Mooney!” repeated Allen. “What, in the name 
of all the fabulous gods of Greece, is that? 

“W’y it’s suthin’ that looks like a man ’n’ it tain’t, run- 
nin’ wild in the hills here. Terrible strange, fierce-lookin’ 
critter!” he promptly explained. 

The two strangers exchanged winks. 

“Well, how does he look when at his best?” questioned 
Jim. 

cr Why, he’s got one short leg so he runs around the hill 
sides ’stid o’ goin’ up ’n’ down. Can’t run fast any other 
d'rection. But around a hill. I’ll bet he’d pass a deer. 
His hair ’n’ his whiskers ’n’ his eyeballs are redder ’n’ any 
blaze o’ fire—so red it sets the woods afire take it in a dry 
time. That’s what keeps the Barrens burnt over so much.” 

“Why not get that short leg drawn down or get him 
a shoe with a bottom extension that will even up his legs 
and afford him the pleasure of up and down hikes? Scien¬ 
tific surgery is focused to such a fine point these days, no 
doubt the short leg could be stretched to even up with 
the long one,” recommended Allen with affected compas¬ 
sion. 

The old man was beginning to squirm. They had not 
caught the flavor of his mythology with the relish he 
anticipated. 

“Jest ye wait, my Christian friend,” he warned, shooting 
fair at Allen. If ever yer ketched out on the Barrens 
alone some night ye’ll think ye’ve seen the devil, that’s 
what ve’ll think. Jest as cute young larks as ye be hev 
lost their nerve ’n’ reason at the sight.” 


THE HILLSIDE-MOONEY 


21 


“A great mystery,” averred Allen, affecting belief for 
he perceived the old man was nettled. “And a mystery 
is a success until it is solved. Mr. Snowdon, what do you 
propose to do with Mr. Hillside-Mooney for wearing 
fiery whiskers, setting the woods afire and devastating your 
rich estate?” 

“I think I’ll procure a warrant for the fleet-footed 
gentleman and have the sheriff hunt him down. Mr. Cobb, 
here, naturally becomes the star witness in the prosecution 
at the”—a blast from a horn on the opposite hillside now 
cut the still evening air and sent echoes flying over the 
Barrens, and up and down the rocky defiles. 

The three looked at each other. Milt exultant. 

“There! there! There’s yer tenant now over there on 
that hillside blowin’ his horn!” he vociferated. “Does that 
from some hillside ev’ry time before some strange thing 
happens, like a fire or a death. Hearin’s believin’ hain’t 
it? Don’t see how ye k’n hang out a pair o’ doubtin’ 
Thomases any longer.” 

He looked triumphant; his story was now authenticated. 

Jim began whistling a low refrain while Cad blurted: 

“Well, I’ll be-. Say, Snowdon, we’re bound to get 

some thrills here if we never strike grease. This excels 
all the weird tales I ever read or heard of the Irish ban¬ 
shee.” 

“The clarion of the Hillside-Mooney sounding his pre¬ 
monition is the poem of the hills. The most beautiful 
word setting for it could be but vulgar. Next we will 
witness a flame of fire or a pyre in the sky,” announced 
James dramatically, in the stage voice of a Hamlet. 

“ ’Tain’t goin’ to be fire this time. Woods too damp. 
Coin’ to be a great oil excitement ’round here, I’ll bet 
my house ’n’ land. His toot sounded different ’n ever 
before; kind o’ joyful like on the last end, I noticed,” 
maintained old Milt, still clinging to his uncanny theme. 
But he saw his audience indulging in too frequent glances 
again. 

Cad sometimes spoke with positive sentiment and dig¬ 
nity, then again in terse and emphatic slang. Now very 
soberly he inquired: “Is your abbreviated-limbed, nimble- 



28 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


footed, hill-encircling, living hi-hoop-us a man-eating 
monstrosity in his habits that he so terrifies? Or only a 
swift, fiery fury, running ’on high/ liable to dash into you, 
sparks a flying, if you chance in his path?” 

Milt scratched his head and swallowed hard. At times 
he thought the lad serious; again, he felt the sting of 
satire. Snowdon was even deeper both ways, but slower. 
They were vacillating converts. This time Allen seemed 
fondling his primitive ideas of the supernatural. A thriller 
was in order and the old man braced himself to put on a 
scene that would send the red rushing from their hearts 
and play the cold shivers up and down their spinal col¬ 
umns. He rasped his throat and began: 

“Wal, sir, I will narrate unto ye a strange ’n’ awful 
hap’nin’ that’s jest as true as that sun is truly droppin’ 
behind them hills. It happened in huckleberry time on 
the Barrens. The hillsides was jest blue at the time with 
berries. Folks come from far V near to pick. A crowd 
had come that day from Blue Ruin (that’s over down on 
the other end o’ the Ridge at the corners). Lodosky 
Jones ’n’ Mary Ann Fish got strayed from the crowd ’n’ 
was higher up the hill than the rest, pickin’ ’n’ gossipin’, 
Lodosky consid’able higher up than Mary Ann. Wal, it 
seems from what anuther womern down below heard ’em 
callin’ back ’n’ forth, Lodosky was peelin’ some one ’bout 
their cookin’ when all of a sudden went the Hillside- 
Mooney era shin’ through the bushes atween ’em, sparks 
a flyin’. ‘She fries ’em in lard!’ was Lodosky’s words jest 
then, high ’n’ shrill, and her last. She fell in her tracks 
at the sight. They found her dead right there ’n’ Mary 
Ann as good as—never’s knowed anybody sense.” 

The tale here was broken by the rattle of a cow-bell. 
It hung on a strap outside the cabin door and its clatter 
alwaj's served meal notices at hotel de Cobb when the 
proprietor was outside. 

“Come on, boys,, we’ll go ’n’ see what the neighbors 
have fetched in,” hastily said old Milt, rising as if 
welcoming relief for, during the tragic recital, Allen had 
snickered more than once and Snowdon had peered through 
very narrow eye-slits. 


THE HILLSIDE-MOONEY 


29 


Aunt Ibby’s board was immaculate in its simplicity. 
From her chest of precious treasure she had brought forth 
the sacred blue tea service, exhibited only on rare occa¬ 
sions, and on the white cloth the effect was artistic— 
accidentally. The cup figure showed a Chinese Mandarin, 
seated in a fantastic bower of preternatural flowers and 
birds, and a tilting servant pouring tea. Milt took his 
place at the head of the table and designated places right 
and left to the pair—his bowers. Aunt Ibby, mum and 
stoic, marched the floor and served, trailed by that stately, 
brindle grimalkin, Stephen, his catship giving a yowl of 
want at every turn of her military movements. But she 
spurned his state of gnawing emptiness. His time for 
refillment was not yet ripe. 

Warm biscuit and wild honey were leaders in the menu. 
Only too swiftly the biscuits melted away, as Milton kept 
asking in megaphone voice if they could “mow” away any 
more. Then, when first appetite had slightly abated he 
found time to look Jim over again—a compelling figure of 
a man—and “s’posed” he would employ a driller of course. 

“How, I don’t want to enter into yer cal’lations, but 
. there’s Riley Henshaw livin’ on up the road,” he said. 
“He’s been in the oil fields ’n’ them what knows it say he 
k’n punch more hole into the earth in a day than any 
other man livin’.” 

“I am the driller,” replied Jim, calmly. “Cad and I 
can perform all the labor on the first venture, after the 
outfit is moved in and placed.” 

“What, ye work!” exclaimed old Milt looking him over 
anew. “Yer kind don’t often toil. Didn’t s’pose a Snow¬ 
don ever done anything but figger int’rest.” 

Ignoring the imputation, James knit his brows in 
thought and inquired where lumber might be procured and 
if there was likelihood of finding any suitable rig timber 
on the Barrens. ' He finally decided upon the old man’s 
recommendation to try at Henshaws’ in the morning for 
the additional help he would need at the outset. 

Supper over and “Starbucket” milked, Milt hitched old 
Nance to the prehistoric chariot and jogged off down the 
hill for the baggage. Mrs. Cobb, after the dishes were 


30 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


done and tidiness restored, proceeded to the hencoop and 
settled accounts with a young rooster designed for a morn¬ 
ing fry. The “Si’mese Twins,” or “Swells,” as Milt 
christened them whgn speaking aside to Aunt Ibby, for 
their part, had sauntered to the hillside above the spring 
where, seated on the ground, they were enjoying a mollify¬ 
ing after-meal smoke and laying plans for the future. 
Around them the old orchard burdened with fruit spread 
a mellow perfume. The landscape of the hills was now 
fading into darkness and stars were breaking through. 
Occasionally came the sleepy twitter of a restless bird. 
Below them brooks drowsily rippled down their ways, while 
from far off drifted the tinkle of bells, the bleating of 
flocks, voices and the baying of the faithful farm-dog. The 
atmosphere at that altitude of the Pennsylvania hills 
soothes as the “balm of Gilead.” They were superlatively 
happy. 

When they were retiring for the night, they heard the 
lord of the manor driving into the barnyard, vocalizing 
lustily in a sorrowful, sonorous voice, the burden of whose 
lay was: 

“ ‘0, when I was single, 0, then, 0, then, 

0, when I was single, 0, then; 

0, when I was single, 

I made money jingle, 

And the world it went well with me then/ ” 

From the next room came mumbled a vituperous epithet 
regarding an aged liar. In their small “clutter-box,” as 
Cad termed their cramped apartment with its crowded 
fittings, the window was raised and in a cooling breeze 
they dropped off to sleep to the croaking lullaby of 
the cricket orchestra outside. James was soon lost to 
everything in the wonder of a beautiful maiden clad in 
ermine vesture who stood with bowed head in the nave of 
a cathedral, listening to the chant of the angelus—when 
he awoke with a start. His first effort was an endeavor 
to recall where he was. Then, as his mind slowly cleared, 
he felt Cad’s deep breathing beside him. A sharp tapping 


THE HILLSIDE-MOONEY 


31 


on the window next arrested his attention—the cause of 
his sudden waking. Shades of the inferno! Two great 
fiery eyes, a nose and a wide crescent mouth in a dia¬ 
bolical fiery grin, at that black hour of night! At first 
glimpse, Jim, now thoroughly awake, quailed. Quickly, 
however, nerve and wits returned, and he lay pertectly 
quiet, watching the behavior of the dreadful visitor. The 
tapping was repeated. The head kept swaying right and 
left. Beside the bed, standing half open, was his suit¬ 
case and in it reposed his “trusty” capable of seven “barks.” 
Slowly and noiselessly his hand reached out, then down, 
until he felt the cold steel. It took him several minutes 
to gain a position where he could hold the weapon to 
insure a hit without creating an alarm. At length he 
was able to hold the revolver with his right hand, and with 
his left steadying the barrel and his face pressing the 
breech to get the best possible bead near the eyes, he pulled 
the trigger. A deafening report, a fall outside, a blood 
curdling shriek from Allen and a silence that was appalling! 

“In the name of God, what is it? Where are you, Jim?” 
cried the terrified lad, now sitting up and throwing his 
arms around Snowdon. 

“Don’t be frightened, Buddie. Guess I got the Hillside- 
Mooney,” calmly answered Jim, scrambling out of bed and 
fumbling in a pocket for matches. “He was making an 
unseasonable call at the window and I gave him our greet¬ 
ings warmly; that’s all.” 

He stealthily made his way to the window and listened. 
All was silent. Cautiously he poked his head outside, re¬ 
volver in hand, ready. No sound. With his free hand 
he raked a match on the wall; its light revealed nothing. 
He lit another and looked down. A bursted pumpkin lay 
on the ground! Too provoked to laugh, he hastily with¬ 
drew his head and abandoning caution noisily replaced 
his gun while Cad whispered, “See anything?” 

“Yes, I shot a pumpkin—a Jack-o’-lantern all-” 

“-to hell!” finished the jubilant Cad in n sudden 

burst of relief, his nerves and muscles relaxing by yards 
it seemed. Then he laughed until a “stitch” caught him 
in the side. 




32 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


Finally sobering, Cad asked: “Who do you suppose it 
was and what was the idea?” 

“It’s very evident old Cobb is the Hillside-Mooney in 
various guises with pre-arranged sounds. The purpose as 
yet is vague.” 

“Oh, what if you hit him!” cried Allen seized with fresh 
terrors. 

“Only split the pumpkin he had sitting on his head. 
He was paid for if I had punctured him”—unconcernedly. 

And they fell asleep thinking of morning greetings 
with their host alias Hillside-M'ooney! 


Ill 


The Missing Link 

James was wakened by a sound that reversed the mag¬ 
netic currents and made the hair pull. Craunch, craunch, 
craunch—outside the window; something ponderous filling 
its maw! LTp he sat, then crawled down over the foot 
of the bed to reconnoiter. Mists from the streams in the 
lowlands had rolled up over the hills creating a thick veil 
so dense as to be almost opaque. Out of the foggy density 
came the outline of a cow, paunchy, one horn defunct, the 
other, long and slim, striking back over the head like those 
of the ibex. She was foraging on the night’s folly. 

Cad opened heavy eyes and began to stir. “Anything 
unusual with the morning, Mr. Snowdon?” he inquired. 

“Cunning old man!” exclaimed Jim, crawling back into 
bed, and smiling at Milton’s cleverness. “The magician 
has his old cow out early removing fragmentary traces of 
the black art that he fell down on during the night. Hopes 
that we haven’t discovered the wizard’s decapitated poll 
yet.” 

Cad grew thoughtful. “The old coon seems steeped in 
hocus-pocus. Tryin’ to scare us out, don’t you think ?” 

“He’s obsessed with a mania of some kind—necrom¬ 
ancy, I guess,” answered Jim. “We must be charitable; 
it’s his religion. He’s of that peculiar type who invent 
falsity until after repetition it becomes belief with them. 
Well, when we go out, show no signs of last night’s 
witchery if you can avoid it. What kind of an actor 
are you, Cadmus?” 

“Oh, I am a regular Warfield. When you goin’ to sally 
forth ?” 

“Hav’n’t heard the misses rattling at the stove yet. 
Believe she is innocent of the old man’s escapades. Pep¬ 
pery old soul, but an excellent cook and that covers a mul- 

33 


34 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


titude of sins. We better try for board here till we get our 
cabin up. Guess I can keep the old man shot down. 

When a light rap on the door finally suggested it was 
time to rise and buckle on armor for the day they rose 
gaily in a joyous world. There was the yellow sunshine 
outside, sparkling dew-jewels on the grass, a rooster crow¬ 
ing on a fence-post in satisfaction at fair weather, the 
spring brook lilting on its way. Their eyes met in a last 
encouragement before they opened the door and stepped 
buoyantly upon the stage. However strongly convinced of 
their ability for characterization they may have been before 
their advent, they were doomed to be totally eclipsed by 
the other members of the all-star cast awaiting them. 

“Good mornin’. You wash your faces there on that 
bench or go to the spring where you did last night,” com¬ 
manded Mrs. Cobb as she looked up from the griddle cakes 
she was flopping and pointed to the bench. 

Not a trace of last night’s prank was on her face. 
There was the same, cold, set, Egyptian-muminv cast of 
countenance, the same tart, metallic ring of voice that they 
had encountered the night before. Either she was innocent 
or a Bernhardt. Now the outside door opened and Milton 
Cobb, bearing a pail of milk, stepped in from the wings. 
He looked squarely at them, his round face blooming as 
the harvest moon, sang out a very cheery good morning 
and, as a climax, hoped their “bones rested well last night.” 
Truly the center of the platform belonged to Milt. Could 
^Henry Irving have surpassed? Snowdon and Co., the 
laurels snatched from them without a call for any of their 
latent talent, stood there looking wilted, Jim rumpling his 
disheveled hair and his satellite standing on one leg like 
a rooster in the frost, neck drawn in and eyes partly 
closed. But Snowdon was quick to rally. He affably re¬ 
turned pleasant morning greetings, then said it would be 
an exquisite pleasure to bathe at the spring. And they 
made their exit for the water-trough. 

“So you think, mister, hallucination is running rampant 
here on Nubbin Ridge; that it’s contagious, much the same 
as lethargy was in ‘Sleepy Hollow,’ eh ? That I saw no 


THE MISSING LINK 


35 


pumpkin visage at the window, no cow feeding on the 
remains this morning; that old Cobb’s clear countenance 
proves beyond a doubt he possesses a clear conscience/’— 
this from James as they were vigorously scrubbing at the 
log, blowing and spouting water like whales. 

“Further, that you don’t harbor any musketry around a 
bed where I sleep unless you are out of it. Add that, Mir. 
Snowdon. You had listened to the old man’s cant with 
high amusement, which no doubt is equally strong in 
causing nerve excitement as fear or wonder and you 
dreamed—saw what you couldn’t wide awake,” returned 
Cad tersely. 

“You mean a perception of objects which have no reality 
like delirium tremens or—” 

“Tremens or nightmare,” laughed Cad throwing him 
the towel. 

“Well, next time the fit comes on him, I’ll catch the old 
bird alive and hold him up to you for inspection—myth or 
material,” said James as he vigorously plied his towel. 
“Meantime let it drop; don’t break up the concert but 
wait. Woo! this morning is cool. Now for pancakes!” 

Whereupon he dashed airily back to the cabin followed 
by the gleeful Allen who cried “Spooks!” just as he was 
about to open the door. Jim turned and flung him a 
warning look but had to choke down a laugh before he 
could enter. 

Oh, those pancakes dressed with money! Fried chicken 
done to a palate-teasing brown! Coffee, aroma Arabia! 
How they feasted! Milton in the highest of spirits! Ibby 
wishing to be but knowing not how! James expanding 
gradually at the equator, Cad likely to burst in the same 
latitude! 

“I am an Epicurean, not a glutton,” said Snowdon po¬ 
litely refusing the last cake. 

Cad sorrowfully resisted the temptation to take it. Reluc¬ 
tantly old Milt rose: “Wal, ye wanted me to direct ye to 
Henshaws’ to hire Riley. I’ll have to do it airly. Had a 
terrible dream last night. Seen an army fightin’ for the 
Barrens. Oil spoutin’ higheFn the clouds. Fur flyin’ to 
see who owned it. Found two bee-hives upset this morn- 


36 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


in' ’n’ the honey gone. Hog with one ear nearly tore off. 
"Work of a bear I reckon. Gate open ’n’ old cow in ’n’ 
eat up all the garden what’s not down in the ground. 
I’m goin’ to fix some traps. Set ’em down in the woods 
where the varmint comes up. Bait ’em with honey ’n’ 
woodchuck meat. If it was a. bear, I’ll have him.” This 
was all said with the clearest of countenances and apparent 
honest}^. Jim was more dumbfounded. Was the world 
topsy-turvy ? 

When they started for the road where Milt claimed he 
could best “motion off” the direction to Henshaws’, Aunt 
Ibby followed into the yard with some herbs rolled up in a 
newspaper. 

“Here, Mr. Snowdon,” she said, “I’d like ye to take this 
with ye to Henshaws’. Jerushy has a somethin’—well a 
kind of a heratic—don’t know jest what ’tis. Tell her to 
steep this wormwood ’n’ take it in big doses. Try it for a 
spell.” 

“You’ve a nice yard here, Mrs. Cobb,” said Jim taking 
the herbs. 

“0, kinder. If we git oil, I’m going to have a condition 
built to the house ’n’ then set out the yard full of scrub- 
bery ’n’ have it look like somethin’ round here.” 

“Yes ’n’ a bay winder on the smoke-house, a new bottom 
to the spring, a couple o’ piannies, bristles carpet ’n’ a cul¬ 
tivator to lift ye up stairs with,” augmented Milt, looking 
knowingly at Jim. 

“ ’N’ ye a bar’l o’ whiskey. Milt Cobb, ye place one 
hand on yer hip and then ye’re a jug,” she retorted. 


IV 


Jeeushy 

In their brisk morning walk, James and Cad were de¬ 
lighted at every step of the way. The day was perfect in 
its beginning. The sun, gloriously ascending the sky, cast 
a golden glow over the hills. Every bush and tree bore 
the tints of autumn. Goldenrod with long racemes of rich 
yellow and gentian bearing clusters of sky-blue bordered 
the wayside. The road zigzagged in the climb, now passing 
through a rocky copse of birches, where a covey of pheasants 
burst out on whirring wing to scatter in the groves; and 
again through a bosk of emerald hemlock, the branches of 
the young trees quite down to the ground, where rabbits 
left cover and went bounding and thumping into the deeper 
woods. But not until the road led through a low growth 
of chestnut and oak, came the crowning sight of the 
morning. A gray squirrel leaped across the way in slow 
graceful bounds, his glossy coat flashing silver in the sun¬ 
light, the long fluffy tail whisking light as thistle-down. 
He sprang upon the trunk of an oak several feet from the 
ground and there paused a moment, regarding the intrud¬ 
ers before making the ascent into the branches. At the 
poise the two stood spellbound. Cad longed for a gun. 

“Why kill such a beautiful little animal as that when 
they’re so scarce nowadays?” tenderly inquired Jim, striv¬ 
ing to catch another glimpse of the frisky little fellow. 

“Somebody’ll get him! might as well be us,” Cad re¬ 
turned in defence, gathering up stones. “I’d like to wear 
that tail round my face and I’d sure have some whiskers 
to beat old Milt’s fleece.” 

“Nothing but enemies for the gray squirrel. Since hunt¬ 
ing is only a sport, he is doomed for extinction, at least in 
near woods. Better not throw. You are likely to hit me,” 
said Jim starting on. 


37 


38 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


Disappointed, the would-be Nimrod emptied his hands 
into the tree-top. 

“See, Cad, what’s in the road ahead of us!” called Jim 
suddenly. He had rounded a shap turn, the bushes and 
rocks obscuring him from Cad. 

Cadmus rallied to the call and as he made the curve 
beheld what appeared to him some hideous beast of the 
jungle. 

“What is it?” he yelled. 

This back hill country of scrub oak and rocks still re¬ 
tained a primitive breed of swine that roamed at will feed¬ 
ing on mast much the same as when the country was new. 
Here was a strain of the lost thistle-digger pedigree, a 
mother and a dozen small pigs. Tall, long, bacon-sided, 
thin-hammed, head and snout half the length of the frame, 
ears erect, sharp and pointing, long tail, bristles standing 
like porcupine quills, the hustler for this large family pre¬ 
sented a most uninviting front. The deep-booming omin¬ 
ous warning served notice of the blockade. It was effec¬ 
tual. Had she discovered the adversary at a distance, true 
to the habit of her species she would have run. Close 
proximity aroused maternal instinct. The moment that 
she halted at the disquieting discovery and braced for the 
fray, the brood, having nothing at stake beyond dinner 
scruples, gathered round her, squealing and tugging. 

“Pick your perch. She’ll charge the moment we move, 
maybe before,” warned Jim in a low voice, keeping well 
alert. 

“Gee, but the little cusses are cute!” exclaimed Cad in 
reckless admiration. 

Just then whizz went a club past James and struck the 
irate brute on the head. Cad had thrown it. The gaunt¬ 
let was down; she accepted the challenge and rushed. By 
almost superhuman maneuvering Snowdon gained the low 
branches of a tree just in time to escape the craunching 
jaws. The woods echoed with indescribable, hair-lifting 
rage. 

“You foo—” he panted as he peered out of his retreat 
in the direction of Allen, who had taken refuge on a high 
rock well out of reach. James produced material for a 


JEHU,SHY 


39 


cigarette, rolled one, lit it and began composedly to smoke 
above the frenzy, waiting a chance of escape. 

“Don’t think there’s any use of getting excited,” called 
over the source of their not too envious predicament. “I 
don’t fear her.” 

“Those that know nothing fear nothing,” calmly an¬ 
swered Jim. 

“How long do you sfpose she’ll hold us? Pig! Pig! 
Pig!” Cad called. The bellicose avenger was soon grunt¬ 
ing at the base of the rock. His fortress had now become 
the chief objective in the spirited campaign. A view of the 
ferocious animal at close quarters—froth flying from the 
cadaverous mouth as she snapped off or tore up bushes— 
convinced him that the hog when roaming the woods 
stands high in the category of dangerous denizens. 

Action began in the tree. Over at the rock, Allen was 
so occupied in entertaining his company that he failed 
to notice Snowdon drop behind the tree-trunk. Undis¬ 
covered, Jim backed to another tree and slipped behind 
that; then another until he was quite out of sight and 
where it was safe to run. Circling, he soon came to the 
road again beyond a bend and seated himself on a log to 
await the emancipation of his hampered friend. Presently 
he heard him call: “Jim! Jim Snowdon!” The call 
was followed by a flow of language that bordered strongly 
on execration, then died down into something like despair. 

“Teach him, perhaps, not to be quite so impulsive,” 
mentally commented James. “Throw a club when I was 
in such a ticklish position as that! He’s about as emotional 
as an Italian.” Then he added aloud, “Poor kid!” 

Comrades thev had been for some time. Allen was an 
odd mixture of absurdities, prone to pull the trigger first 
and make inquiries after, while Snowdon was a solid com¬ 
position of acumen, avoiding the pitfalls into which Allen 
was continually plunging. Opposites in temperament, yet 
their attachment was like that of David and Jonathan. 

Snowdon pulled a revolver from his hip pocket and 
looked it over. To shoot the hog, was to raise the ire of 
Uubbin Ridge. Grimly he emptied two chambers in the 


40 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


cylinder of empty shells, then refilled them. Their lives 
were in jeopardy and if the animal failed to tire in reason¬ 
able time and allow them to proceed on their way he would 
clear the road and the law would defend him. Just as he 
rose for the ordeal pattering footsteps arrested his atten¬ 
tion and Cadmus Allen hove in sight around the turn, 
much flurried. The moment he discovered Snowdon 
standing in the road ahead laughing, he burst into a jubi¬ 
lant guffaw, and slackened speed. He was coatless. 

“Where’s your coat?” inquired Jim of the fugitive as 
he came up. 

“Threw it to the old sow,” Allen panted. “And while 
she was busy fixing it up, I broke jail; slid down the 
opposite side of Gibraltar and made a get-away by cuttin’ 
curves and dodging behind friendly trees and rocks.” 

James laughed long and loudly; by the time he had 
finished several fits of mirth, Allen had regained breath 
sufficiently to move on in quest of new adventures. Their 
merry voices attested that the novel experience had served 
but as a stimulus to pitch their spirits high. Shortly 
they came upon an old man standing under a tree, looking 
up very interestedly into the top. He held a gun and was 
sighting game. He turned to the strangers. Leathern¬ 
faced, tousled and grizzled, his eyes purging peach-tree 
gun, he seemed to have weathered his three score and 
ten and yet appeared hale. With head tipped back, he 
gravely gazed upon them with bleared and mournful eye, 
much as Methuselah might have gazed upon young Laniech. 
James courtly advanced and inquired the distance to 
Henshaws’. 

“Squirrel jest run up this tree,” he answered, his voice 
deep and hollow enough to have come from the depths 
of the catacombs. 

“How far is it to Henshaws,’ please?” repeated James 
drawing nearer. 

“Went into a hole up there,” continued the old man, 
at the same time placing a hand behind a blanket-like ear, 
expansive enough to have arrested sound waves from Eu¬ 
rope. 

“How far is it to Henshaws’?”—louder. 


JERUSHY 


41 


“He’ll be stickirr his head out by’n-by.” 

“How far is it to Henshaws’ ?” shouted Jim, rising on 
tiptoe. 

“I’ll salt ’im soon as he looks out his winder,” leered 
the old Nimrod. 

“You’re an old fool” yelled the ever indiscreet Allen, to 
Snowdon’s complete discomfiture. 

“'The woods ’pears to he jest full of ’em this mornin’,” 
calmly returned the old man as he shifted his gaze to 
the tree-top again. 

While Allen pondered, James hastily intervened. 

“Since the atmosphere is cleared, since our mental cali¬ 
ber is classified, measured up to, so to speak, think we’d 
better jog on/’ he laughed. “There’s the pine ahead where 
we turn in.” 

Down through the bushes a short distance from the main 
road they came to a farm-opening. It lay in a saucer-like 
depression. Streams oozed out in many places on the 
slopes, meeting in a brook bordered by alders and willows 
that idled southward to a cleft in the basin rim, where it 
leaped down and joined Hazel Fork, which separated the 
better lands from the Barrens. Along the woods where 
they were standing ran a stone wall. A lane, walled with 
stone, led down to the buildings on more level ground and 
ended at the barnyard. On a gentle slope at the right, 
stood the low brown house, quite sequestered by a variety 
of trees, low and twisted, giving evidence of sterile soil 
that had to be enriched to yield fair returns. But it was 
home and over it all lay an atmosphere of content. Far 
back from the outside world the inhabitants no doubt were 
enjoying a quiet little world of their own. Such were ap¬ 
pearances without. When they had gained the house 
James wondered if a rap on the door might reveal some¬ 
thing different within. No response. Another rap without 
success. 

“I saw a side door standing open as we came down the 
lane,” volunteered Allen “Let’s try that.” 

Before they reached it, however, out upon the narrow 
veranda whisked a tall, spare woman who stared wonder- 
inglv at them with large, gray, popping eyes. She was the 
replica of Miss Ophelia—hair pulled back taut in a chignon. 


42 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


Two small tight curls, the length of a finger, played over 
each high cheek bone, witcheries to captivate foolish 
hearts. The gown she wore indicated a pinch of pattern 
for the emaciated figure was plainly suggested beneath. 

As she stood in state, apparently awaiting an inquiry, 
James, the extraordinary, set one foot upon a step, placed 
a hand upon a post of the porch and said: “Good morn¬ 
ing, madam. Is Mr. Henshaw, Mr. Riley Henshaw, at 
home ?” 

Back so far went the head there seemed danger of her 
losing equipoise. The voice, the physique, the face of the 
stranger would have been responsible for the disaster had 
she gone over backwards. Like the Queen of Sheba at 
beholding the glory of Solomon, there was no more spirit 
in her. But with the low courtesy that counterbalanced 
the back action, she gave an answer which, no doubt, she 
thought would please the ear of gentry. 

“Indirectly. He elevated the ax to his shoulder and 
proceeded to the forest to procure some fuel for the ensuing 
winter,” she said in the squawkish voice of an educated 
parrot. 

Snowdon maintained well his dignity, but Cadmus avert¬ 
ed his face skyward, presumably to watch a hawk sailing 
and wheeling the cerulean blue. 

Noticing James halting for speech, she continued, “No 
accidents occuring, peradventure he may return by the 
time the sun reaches the zenith.” 

“Is Mr. Henshaw your son?” James inquired, casting 
about for words. 

“Oh, no! indeed, no! He is my youngest brother,” she 
cackled drily, piqued at what might possibly be a refer¬ 
ence to her age. 

“Fine spring of water you have here,” he said, turning 
to a font in the bank a few feet from the walk. It was 
walled and arched with stones, now mossgrown, while 
around it grew planted ferns which throve in the damp¬ 
ness and the darkness of a cluster of spruces. “Reminds 
me I’m thirsty.” 


JERUSHY 


43 


“Wait till I get you a glass,” she said, starting for 
the door. 

“No, there’s a cup. I’ll drink from that,”—and he went 
on followed by Cad while she took a seat beside the door 
and watched them drink with open pride. 

“We’ve the best water in the world, I do believe, here 
in these hills,” she began when they came back to the 
veranda. “Old Mrs. Bolivion moved west from here 
when they were first married, and before she died—well, 
it just seemed she couldn’t die, in fact, till they brought 
her back and she drank water from these springs again; 
then she peacefully left this mundame sphere.” 

“Poisoned her likely,” broke in the reprehensive Cad. 

“Beg pardon, it didn’t. This spring is always running 
sweet and pure,” she said with spirit, resenting the asper¬ 
sion. 

“Doesn't run nights does it?” 

“What doesn't run nights ?” 

“Your spring.” 

“My spring?” 

“Anybody’s spring.” 

“Doesn’t run nights! Who told you our spring doesn’t 
run nights? I keep my window raised and it is such 
sweet music to hear that springwater bubble-bubble-bubble 
all the livelong night; just makes me drowsy and lulls 
me to sleep.” 

“Doesn’t run when the moon shines does it?” 

“Moonshine! As if—I tell you that spring runs night 
and day!” and she smacked a small bony fist into the 
palm of the other bony hand better to mark the emphasis. 

James concluded the time for interference was ripe: 
“Don’t think Mr. Allen serious, madam. He had a strug¬ 
gle for his existence on his way here tins morning and I 
notice he hasn’t calmed down yet,” 

“Mr. Allen?” she queried. “Yes, MY Allen. And you 
are?” 

“Snowdon is my name,” responded James. 

“0, yes; Mr. Snowdon and Mr. Allen.” She was grow¬ 
ing very gracious, fairly ogling James “The news reached 
us this morning. You are the oil men. Going to operate 


44 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


the Barrens. Yes, yes; I am so elated, so perfectly elated. 
And, Mr. Allen, you had trouble on the way. I notice you 
are not wearing a coat. Perhaps your trouble isn’t settled. 
I do hope you have not come here for any. Our country 
is at peace now with all the world except Washington. 
There is always a fight on in Washington. I do wish 
our church would set apart a day each week for prayer 
and fasting for our Capitol. Please sit down for I see 
my brother returning from the forest. Won’t you come up 
here and have some chairs? All right; the steps are quite 
clean. Yes, Father, Brother and I reside here alone. 
Brother was in the Texas oil fields for awhile. Had to 
come home and take the farm when Decatur married. Pop 
is in the woods hunting for a hog. She’s been gone for ever 
so long.” (At this part of the recital Allen nudged 
Snowdon in the ribs.) "But, pray, Mr. Allen, who set 
upon you this morning in the forest that you should cast 
your coat?” 

"A fond and idolizing mother,” he quickly responded, 
"with a family of twelve descendants, all at the breast. 
There was a very unhappy understanding at the begin¬ 
ning; she became suddenly inoculated with the erroneous 
premonition that we evilly intended to disorganize her 
family. Very abruptly, she set upon Mr. Snowdon in a 
most frenzied manner and hastily he was forced to take 
refuge in a tree to escape the wrath to come. Then 
she gave her undivided attention to me for a time, where 
I was very unwillingly held in duress upon the Rock of 
Ages. The happy thought occurred to me that she might 
be a tailoresis when at her trade so thereupon I threw! 
my coat to her to renovate as best befit her taste and 
soon she was very busy with the remodeling. When I 
found an opportunity, I absconded while she was ripping 
out the sleeves. According to her wise judgment, no 
doubt, the armholes were too small. And there you have 
it.” 

As the jargon progressed, James grew uncomfortable. 
Where would it lead? Miss Henshaw’s eyes increasingly 
dilated while a look of wonder and bewilderment over¬ 
spread her face as the tale lengthened and the mystery 


JERUSHY 


45 


deepened. When Cad had finished, keeping his face yet 
sidewise to her as he had done throughout the narrative, 
she gasped out: “Who in this world can it be and where 
does she reside ?” 

“Resides at Henshaws’ if I am not mistaken,” pestered 
the wag, never so happy as when breeding disturbance. 

She was thunderstruck. She was on the verge of col¬ 
lapse. Her hands went up, imploringly. 

“As my name is Jurushy Henshaw—as I am Jerushy 
Henshaw—•” 

“'Dear lady,” interrupted James, jumping up, “he means 
an old hog. Possibly it is the one that strayed from here. 
She was in the road with a litter of pigs and disputed the 
right of way with us. Do not let it annoy you. Mj. 
Allen has a mania for romance.” 

He had apologized for the trickster and the trickster 
looked defeated. Jerushy did not return at once from 
the chaos into which she had been led. She was subject 
to mild fits of hysteria. She had deeply wondered at a 
virago in the woods but to have it flung in her face 
that the creature was a Henshaw had brought on an ag¬ 
gravated paroxism. The debonair strangers had early 
won her heart. Then to have one of them heap such 
opprobrium upon her later, notwithstanding her strained 
effort at vocabulary, had been the whole straw-stack to 
break the camel’s back. She was alternately weeping and 
laughing, characteristic symptoms of the malady. James, 
confounded, watched the twitching eyes, large now as white 
door knobs. 

“It’s the ‘innocuous desuetude,’ something known only 
to the late Grover Cleveland, that’s taken her. Water may 
revive her,” cried Allen in terror as he leaped for a pail 
standing on the steps and went rushing for the spring. 

Had James been positive that Jerushy were dying, he 
could hardly have repressed a smile at the now frantic 
Allen. “Don’t throw that full pail of water on her or 
I’ll dip you in the spring,” he warned as Allen came 
dashing up ready to douse her. “I’ll bathe her face and 
wet her head with some. It may revive her,” beginning 
to apply it. 


46 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


“Don’t wet those little curls, Snowdon; it’ll take the 
kink all out of them ’n’ she’ll be mad if she wakes up. 
Wish her brother would hurry. Wonder if we could find 
some camphor.” 

“She does not reside here,” gagged Jerushy, taking a 
turn for the better, apparently. 

“Sure, she’s coming down the lane now,” piped up the 
recalcitrant Allen. It was well intended. Now the 
atmosphere would be clarified and Jerushy, he felt sure, 
would come out of her fit when she saw the pig. 

“Shut your foolish mouth, will you,” chided Jim as 
he diligently chafed the face and hands of the sufferer. 
“You would quarrel over a straw. Throw her into a 
relapse will you.” 

“Belay there. Doctor! If you take the crimp out of 
that other curl there with your cold water cure, you’ll wish 
for a flying machine when she discovers the damage you’ve 
done.” 

“When her brother gets here, he’ll deal with you. Hunt 
a towel inside to dry her face with,” commanded Jim 
dryly. “Believe she will rally presently if you don’t break 
out again.” 

“Wish she’d raise her head and look up the lane at that 
Homeric pastoral scene spread out before us. Instead of a 
shepherd driving homeward a bleating flock in the last 
rays of a sinking sun, it’s a swine-herder bringing in a 
drove of hogs, and that mother of the prolific bearing is 
the very one that held you so artistically treed, Jim,” 
said Allen, pulling a cloth off a line at the end of the 
veranda and handing it to him. 

Jerushy raised her drooping head. Much of the wild 
stare had left her eyes. Allen’s description fell upon her 
ear just as she was coming back to consciousness. Pass¬ 
ing the gate, the little pigs were scudding hither and 
thither, now back to the homely mother again, as she called 
them in with her “Honk! honk! Honk! honk!” while the 
old man swayed a long pole over them, timed to a “Ga, 
Jang! ga Jang there!” Then Jerushy perceived. He 
meant a hog! She laughed; she cried! she laughed and 
cried together while James pitied. 


JEBTTSHY 


47 


“She does reside here, Mr. Allen,” Jerushy meekly and 
weakly confessed as speech returned. 

“Sure! And she’s a beaut!” crowed the popin-jay, hop¬ 
ping around. The unfortunate’s recovery had restored his 
peace of mind. Her forgiveness shone out and that, too, 
would save him a possible brush with young Ilenshaw, 
who at this moment was jaunting up the path, ax over 
his shoulder, with a buoyancy that indicated he was aware 
of their visit and purpose. 

Verily, their advent and their objective had spread like 
wildfire. The Cobbs that morning had set the news flying. 
Yubbin Eidge was agog. From farm to farm, over the 
entire saddle-back even down to the smaller clearings on 
its withers, the glad tidings had swept before nightfall. 
Telephone lines were minus, but fleet foot and ready limb 
carried the intelligence of possible fortune, a fortune some¬ 
where waiting along the hard and flinty way. Their for¬ 
bears had struggled here before them for the merest 
claim to existence. But now Dame Fate was about to 
smile on them and decree that they should live in gilded 
halls, apparelled in fine cloth and feather, with servants 
to await their beck and call. Sol Faldin late that day 
had crossed over the gully and heralded the word to the 
Hayhows. Enthusiasts were the Hayhows and they early 
celebrated. Sol must stay and sup. At the table he came 
very near losing his life; he choked on an onion blade 
while declaring his set purpose of selling his possessions 
and sailing for Halifax. Others on that memorable day 
eagerly placed orders for Fords. Somebody crossed the 
woods to tell Eiley Henshaw that the emancipator against 
hard-scrabble was then at his very door, calling him to 
flowery beds of ease. On air he started for the house, his 
feet disdaining the ground and we have seen him approach¬ 
ing the Baron of the Barrens. 

As James stood on the veranda steps, towering above 
him, his look of nobility nearly swept Eiley off his feet. 
It struck him that this courtly fellow could not possibly 
be the man who was rooming in old Milt Cobb’s cubby¬ 
hole? He had anticipated a person something nearer his 
own caliber, judging from his choice of stopping places and 


48 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


way of beginning business. Snowdon’s- appearance, kingly 
in plain cloth, took him aback. No use now for the “hail 
fellow, well met” speech he had framed on his way to the 
house. He merely advanced and bashfully nodded. 

Regality, pomposity, dominance were qualities absolute¬ 
ly foreign to Jim Snowdon’s nature despite his mien; but 
with all his effort to counteract the impression of these at¬ 
tributes he felt he was giving Henshaw, Riley, when he 
understood the purpose of the visit, rolled back his eyes 
till nothing showed but the whites and humbly and dis¬ 
tressfully blurted out: “It’s my dumb-struck intentions 
to make all possible preparations to assist you, Mr. Snow¬ 
don.” 

“And then the boiler blew up,”—Allen again and always 
at a time when tensions were taut. This time, accident¬ 
ally, the effect was the thing. Desperate cases need des¬ 
perate remedies. Accompanying the satire, his face was 
drawn into such a woe-begone, distressful look—harrowed, 
miserable—that Snowdon and Henshaw, after taking one 
long look of amazement, simultaneously burst into loud 
laughter. Then, of course, with that the bars of conven¬ 
tionality were down and Riley grew normal. 

“Come let us be seated and hold communion,” laughed 
James, acting the part of host as he camped on the edge 
of the veranda. 

In the talk that followed, Riley early displayed first¬ 
hand knowledge of the business which Snowdon proposed 
to launch: the tapping of the Barrens. Riley’s under¬ 
standing of the lay of the territory, his opinion as to where 
roads could best be built, his past experience in the oil 
fields, soon proved to Jim’s mind that his services would 
be invaluable. Thus the next day would see the beginning 
of a venture that threatened—threatened certain poten¬ 
tialities ! 

Meantime Jerushy had silently withdrawn, crestfallen 
at the spectacle she had presented, fearful that another 
market might have been spoiled for her by the disclosure. 
Mutely showering maledictions on Allen for raising her ire 
over his asinine remarks that had thrown her into the fit, 


JERTJSHY 


49 


she faded into the kitchen, there to take it out battling 
with the stove, and with dinner preparations. 

Old man Henshaw now came bobbing around the corner 
of the house. He stopped suddenly and gazed blankly at 
the coterie as he stroked his chop whiskers. Cad muttered 
something from Exodus regarding Moses fleeing from the 
face of Pharaoh and Jim bumped him off with his elbow 
to hush him up. “Looks to me’s though she’d got her 
hands full, Riley. Near’s I k’n make out, got fifteen pigs 
p n’ only got fourteen bottles,” said the old man as he 
passed on into the house. 


y 


THE TENTACLES OF THE OCTUPUS BEGIN TO MOVE 

If the pages of a folio were ever enriched by the de¬ 
scription of a devil and his inferno, we would attempt it 
here. There are, it is known, two well defined forms of 
the monster: the fiery, roaring variety that goes about 
outwardly giving warning of his iniquity and the subtle 
reptile that strikes in the dark. But to eschew the un¬ 
congenial task of picturing the latter type, we will merely 
describe a man who was seated at an oak table, massive 
and carved, in a sumptuous office on the second floor 
of a large business block in Petrolia. His appearance in¬ 
dicated sixty, though he carried his years well. His hair, 
silvery gray, was painstakingly cropped in the cut of the 
times; his steel-gray eyes, ever alert under the high brows, 
shifted in their glance from merciful to merciless as the 
action suited; his ample mouth when compressed was a 
lipless line across the face; in the chin the Phrenologist 
would read determination and obstinacy. His clothes 
were immaculate in fit, gray in color and made from a fine 
woolen texture such as is only fabricated by celebrated 
Scotch looms. This was John Snowdon. He was tabulat¬ 
ing memoranda sheets and letters while a page pussy¬ 
footed to his orders with the files. 

At another table sat a young man who could be in¬ 
stantly recognized as the proverbial “chip of the old 
block” though the features were finer and sufficiently sub¬ 
dued to some charm. This was John, Jr. His attention 
was divided equally between papers before him on the 
table and a pretty typist busily clicking a typewriter in 
a corner. Bright hair, soft eyes, sweet lips, waxen com¬ 
plexion—these charms were playing havoc with his work. 
Just now he had dictated a letter, with smiles, to a boiler 
works ordering lumber. His father caught him up and 

50 


THE TENTACLES BEGIN TO MOVE 


51 


asked him if he would step in at the millinery store on 
his way home and order oysters! Pretty stenographer 
smiled! She was not reciprocating his glances. Un¬ 
requited love is a burning malady. John, Jr., was burning. 
To sit there and gaze on beauty day after day—it was 
driving him mad. He was planning desperate straits if 
beauty did not yield in due time. Yet he had no thought 
of wedding an office girl. This, too, was uppermost in 
the girl’s own mind. Unhappy John, Jr.! 

The door opened and the postman handed in the morn¬ 
ing mail. The page placed it on the table before the 
magnate. He shuffled the letters and sent part of them 
to John, Jr.; then he casually scanned the Morning Sun 
till— “umyh!” He had struck something momentous. 
Instantly his face, like Abbe Maury’s, featured the seven 
cardinal sins. 

“See here, Johnnie. Read in the ‘Personals’ what I’ve 
checked.” 

John, Jr., read: “Jim Snowdon and friend, late of 
Oklahoma, blew in on train 12 yesterday. James is the 
possessor of the Barrens east of here and expects to test 
the same for oil. He made short stay in the city, passing 
on to the field of enterprise. A multitude of friends in 
Petrolia will join in wishing him unbounded success.” 

John, Jr.’s., face darkened. He looked up at the elder. 

“What you going to do. Dad? Have you an eye on 
a scout that you can use?” 

“Yes,” wolfishly snapped the pater wiping his glasses. 
“I’ve one fixed; slippery as an old eel though.” 

“Who is it?” 

“Old Milt Cobb of Nubbin Ridge.” 

“ ‘We are lost the captain shouted 
As he staggered down the stairs.’ ” 

quoted the younger derisively as he leaned back in his 
chair. 

“I’ll fix a couple more from town, more reliable, to 
make sure,” said the old man grimly and settled back 
over his work again. 


52 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


Could he? Could he crush Jim Snowdon when the 
opportune time arrived? Wherein lay his power? First, 
it was conceded he held Petrolia in his right hand. That 
enviable eminence had been reached by fastening a hold 
on Big Business. On all leading industries there was felt 
his iron clutch. As a ward-heeler he was astute and care¬ 
fully culled henchmen did his work. His was the Throne 
Room; the mayoralty and town council were wired to it. 
The wires reached beyond Petrolia. There was a Judge 
of the Courts elected by the people; but John Snowdon 
managed to get Snowdon verdicts. Yet John Snow¬ 
don always needed money. For this reason, perhaps, 
he had kept hold of a peculiar claim, a peculiar writing, 
cunningly shaped it had been, on the Barrens, enacted in 
years gone by. He had long been waiting a time when 
the tree would be shaken for its fruit; then he would 
reach forth and gather in the plums. Peculiarly enough, 
he had chosen for his victim his brother back in Scotland 
and affairs thus far had worked easily to the ends desired. 
Had the hour struck? Yet he feared Jim Snowdon. It 
was to be Snowdon versus Snowdon. The blood was Scotch 
and the true Scot the world over is known as “either a 
blessed friend or a cussed enemy.” What would James be 
like when roused? Five years before that time there had 
been a stormy scene between them and it had been the 
parting of the ways. Now they were to meet again. 

At the hour of ten, the office doors of Snowdon and 
Son were opened to the public. The usual influx would 
then begin. Heads of firms and of corporate bodies, 
politicians, office holders, office seekers—varied were the 
visitants and their missions, but all came for favors, guid¬ 
ance or advice. The causes for which they came were 
sometimes discussed openly with the grand Moloch; at 
other times there would be a closet session when the canon 
involved secrecy. His power to receive and listen, then 
encourage or discourage, dispatch or disperse was little 
short of electric. In personality, he was magnetic, irre¬ 
sistible, drawing other forces to him. His adroitness often 
baffled attorneys at the bar where he was always a formid¬ 
able opponent. At times he would be very gracious, play- 


THE TENTACLES BEGIN TO MOVE 


53 


ing charity as a card to hold or increase power. In short, 
Snowdon was an inveigler. Whatever came to his mill was 
grist. 

This proved an active day for Snowdon and Son; yet 
while Snowdon gave his usual interest on the surface, 
underneath he had found time before closing to formulate 
an espionage campaign. Next day the dogs of war were 
to be loosed for a clandestine hunt in the hills. 

* * * * ;jc * 

Business continued brisk as customary in the office of 
Snowdon and Son—for over two weeks before the mail 
brought in a report from the Barrens. Her loveliness 
in the gown of light lawn with the sprays of pale blue 
violets, paused in her work at the typewriter, for she had 
caught the name Jim Snowdon mentioned by the Heads. 
They were seated at the head table, obviously pouring over 
a map, now tracing, now pointing places and engaged in 
low, animated conversation. Yes, Jim! She had read he 
was back from Oklahoma. Her face kindled with a strange 
light. She was bonnie Jean MacCrea and she was Jim 
Snowdon’s friend—just a friend. What were the arch 
fiends up to now? She was slowly beginning to regard 
them as such. Were they after Jim? They had quarreled 
over property five years before when he had left Petrolia, 
this she knew and now—well, her surmises were grave. 
Gathering up a sheet of paper, a half finished letter, she 
crossed the room to where they were seated and paused 
beside John Junior’s chair. He turned as she pointed out 
a trivial error in the wording. Very naturally she sug¬ 
gested an improvement while his hand stole up to hers on 
the paper and the touch, warm and velvety, set his heart 
beating like a trip-hammer! Enough, and as she fell away 
from him her eyes swept the folio on the table. “Map of 
the Barrens” was what she read. And the work appeared 
to be a complete topography—hills, hollows, streams, down 
to minute details—the plot executed by a professional 
hand. 

“Um! located his well near the Hermit Spring. Won¬ 
der if he knows that a dry hole was found not thirty 
rods from there,” said the elder as she took her chair. 
James was to be hit not by a Mauser bullet but by a 


54 THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 

“bombshell,” she clearly foresaw, once the guns were in 
position. 

“0, Jim, they’re after you!” she breathed as she settled 
down to her work again. “I’ll warn you tonight. I can¬ 
not forget your kindness and I’ll repay.” 

“Building a fine road up there from Comfort, so says 
the letter,” Snowdon went on. “Half a dozen teams at 
work. Must consider it a permanent stand, eh? Erecting 
a double log house out of old dead pines, oriental and 
ornamental, by that fountain.” 

“Wonder how he’s financed?” spoke up John, Jr., taking 
his eyes with difficulty from the diapanous vision seated 
with her back to the plate glass window between the large 
showy Ferns of Florida that he had placed at each side 
as fit setting for Jean’s loveliness. 

But their minds were suddenly drawn from speculation. 
A burst of brazen song smote their eyes. The performer, 
coming along the corridor outside, was vocalizing with 
the loud pedal in strident falsetto, mezzo, legato, staccato. 

“ ‘0, when I was single, 0, then, 0, then.’ ”— 

Old John dropped his hands and looked his disgust in the 
superlative. Young John looked foolish and blank. Jean 
perked up her head and stopped her work to listen. Only 
the page laughed. The song-dervish was coming nearer. 
Uproarious laughter outside now accompanied the ribaldry. 

“Drunk!” said the elder Snowdon. 

“Drunk!” squawked the green parrot from its rustic 
cage beside a fern. The bird had been an innovation solely 
for Jean’s amusement. 

“ ‘0, when I was single,’ ” it squawked again. 

“Wiring its neck,” Snowdon snapped irritably at the 
page. He had held a contempt for the bird and its pur¬ 
pose from the first. 

The song stopped. A voice of Bashan inquired: “Is 
this the main entrance to the pow-wow chamber of the 
Great Wang-a-Wang of the Most High Wack-a-Whacks— 
door to the Wack-a-Whacks ?” 

“Door to the Wack-a-Whacks?” mocked Poll Parrot. 

Snowdon hurled a book at the bird and knocked the cage 
to the floor from which the feathered talker indulged in 


THE TENTACLES BEGIN TO MOVE 


55 


ineomprehensive garbles and unsavory remarks. Jean flew 
to the rescue and set the cage upright on the floor. She 
had never felt any interest in the bird before. Meanwhile, 
John, Jr. was divesting himself of his coat at the door, 
preparing to do battle. An athlete of local notoriety, he 
would likely give a good account of himself should the 
buffoon continue the game upon entrance. The door now 
pushed open and in walked Milton Cobb, respected citizen 
of Nubbin Ridge, with the air of a ruler of the realm. 
No sign of tipple—just a jocular, independent air as he 
doffed his hat and bowed low to no one in particular. 
The rubicund face in its frame of white fringe, the rusty 
Prince Albert coat of other days reaching to the knees, the 
manner all combined, perhaps, to cause the parrot to cry 
out shrilly: “Rents mit ihm!” whereupon Jean arranged 
papers over the cage, thinking to still further oratory. 

Milt kowtowed in obsequious manner as before royalty; 
John, Jr. reluctantly got into his coat, every fiber of his 
being surcharged with grouch, while old John, slow to 
grant amnesty, reservedly came forward. 

“You have a powerful pair of lungs, Mr. Cobb. Why 
this buffoonry in getting into the office? I ought to call 
a policeman and have you jailed. Your conduct is entirely 
unwarranted—shocking, sir.” 

Behind Milt a crowd had gathered, some from curiosity, 
others on business and this disorder was adding to the 
embarrassment of the situation. Regardless of the part he 
wished Cobb to play, John Snowdon resolved he would 
not tolerate the ridiculous spectacle another moment. 
“Out with your business here,” he said “or IT1 throw you 
into the hall, sir.” 

“I come unto the House o’ Grab to see how much in- 
t’rest ye have piled up against me ’n’ see if ye don’t think 
ye’d better foreclose that mortgage ye’ve schemed to git 
holt of to make me do yer dirty work,” was old Milt’s 
outspoken and undaunted answer. 

Shades of the mighty! What had broken loose! This 
old man did not fear power and was bearding the lion 
in his den! Crying him out publicly. What had started 
him out of the hills, bellowing on his way? John Snowdon, 


56 


THE' BARON OF THE BARRENS 


invariably stable under fire, was now seized with a fear 
akin to panic. 

“Come in here, Cobb/’ he said, throwing open the door 
to his privy council room and waving those waiting an 
audience on to the second in power, who had resumed his 
accustomed place. 

“Door to the Wack-a-Whacks!” dismally moaned the 
parrot from its improvised prison. 

“See that that thing is killed, John, before I get out 
there again,” the elder called back as he slammed the door 
after him. 

“Got things nice in here, too/’ said Milt suavely as he 
took inventory of the two deep seated chairs upholstered 
with finely finished leather. 

Snowdon pushed the chairs around to confront each 
other and pointed to one for Milt, all the while remaining 
mute, as yet too full for utterance. After they were seated, 
he continued to glower for a full minute before opening 
the case. The old man’s conduct had been preposterous 
and dangerously daring. He fully intended to mete drastic 
reward. While he was whetting his tongue, old Milt 
gazed up at the brilliant electric lights in childish admira¬ 
tion, unmindful of impending fates. 

“Well, Cobb, what has cut loose up in your country 
to send you down here to bawl me out in this style? I 
mean, now get me, who is behind you in this movement? 
You’ve had some tip that emboldens you; you’ve some 
support and are assured that you are not to be thrown 
out of that nest of yours else you wouldn’t invite me to 
shake it. Who is it f” He glared. He felt he knew who 
it was but wished old M(ilt to admit it to better the lead. 

Old Milt lowered his gaze. Their eyes met and fast¬ 
ened. Milton shifted his cud and chewed slowly on 
it for a brief minute before replying. <r Ye’re barkin’ 
up the wrong tree, Snowdon. The game ye’re alludin’ 
to, ain’t workin’ up there. Ye’ve got into some 
sort of a fight, Snowdon, with yer nephew. What ’tis I 
don’t know ’n’ care less. To help ye in yer hunt after 
him, ye buy a debt over me which means if I don’t furnish 
ye with the information ye want, ye propose to shove me 


THE TENTACLES BEGIN TO MOVE 


57 


out into the road. Wife ’n’ I have talked it over. We 
love our little old home. ’Tain’t wuth much, yit it stands 
atween us ’n’ the poorhouse. But, John Snowdon, we’ve 
concluded that ye hain’t got money ’nough if ye throw in 
Petrolia to hire us to sell out to the devil”—and with it 
down came his fist on the arm of his chair with a bang. 

“Sell out to whom?” fairly shouted old John leaning 
forward. 

“To ye,” bellowed old Milt leaning forward likewise, 
their heads nearly meeting, much like roosters bantering 
and craning their necks in a sparring bout. 

Back went old John’s head. “I see it, I see it. After 
Jim got up there, you disgorged yourself to him com¬ 
pletely. He made you some proposition better than I 
held up to you. You simply sell out to the highest bidder. 
That is the way the land lies. You are not acting from 
principle in this matter. In the first place, I should not 
have taken you into confidence. I have acted within the 
law. I hold a claim, an option, on the Barrens. Jim 
is fully aware of it. If he burns his fingers, who is at 
fault? I bought an honest debt over you. I offered you 
quit claim if you acted as my agent, to my interest, re¬ 
member, without any infringement of the law. Jim is 
sharp you’ll find' and I must meet him fair or foul. Yes, 
I begin to see Jim’s hand already. It’s his trick this 
time, though he has swung trump on a very low card. 
I have all mine back yet. It’s his lead.” 

“Do ye insinooate that I told Jim Snowdon ye wanted 
me to furnish ye samples o’ sand that he found and at 
what depths?” 

“Disgorged yourself. Yes.” 

“Now ye’re off yer eggs agin onto the straw. I was 
ashamed to tell it to any one but Ibby. ’Twould look 
as though I’d earned sich a reputation that I have my 
price.” 

“Has Jim been at your place?” 

“There ’n’ stayed several nights till he got a tent up 
over at the springs. My wife’s doin’ their bakin’ ’n’ I 
tote it over to ’em.” 


58 THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 

“And you didn’t talk this matter over with him while 
there ?” 

“If I’m tellin’ a lie as ye think 1 am, how many times 
do ye want to hear it?” irritably boomed Milt. 

“Did he mention my name?” Old John was waxing 
into better humor and becoming interested. 

“Him! I tried to draw him out on his esteemed uncle 
several times, but it was like quizzin’ a clam. Beyond 
admittin’ ye are his uncle, he seems almost to gag on 
anything connectin’ yer name. But he’s one o’ the finest 
appearin’ chaps I ever met. And to do him dirt, I’ll put 
my hand in the fire first. He’s a thorough Christian—got 
a clean, white heart ’cordin’ to my small peck measure o’ 
judgment.” 

“What church does he attend up there? W 7 hat are his 
tenets?” cynically inquired old John. 

Milt ignored the cut and started in to extol Jim’s 
virtues. “He don’t do any wind work; don’t swear 
when he pinches or hits his fingers; don’t lam¬ 
poon people behind their backs. He’s got half a 
dozen men ’n’ three teams workin’ fer him up there, 
buildin’ a road up from Comfort; goin’ to have it so’s 
he c’n run a car up to the springs. Wal, he works hardist 
of all. Don’t rush his men ’n’ rests ’em once in a while. 
Old Wilder, the backwoods preacher, come through there 
one day. One of his shoes was nearly off his feet. Jim sets 
down and looks at it a little bit, then pulls off his own 
shoes ’n’ ’lows he’d like to trade. How the men laughed 
’n’ even the poor old man laughed ’n’ didn’t want to take 
Jim’s shoes. But Jim made him do it ’n’ he drawed 
a blessin’ ’n’ tears from that old man as he went on his 
way rejoicin’. Jim Snowdon is the kind that does reli¬ 
gion, don’t talk it, I can see that ’thout puttin’ on my 
specs.” 

John Snowdon grew meditative. Finally he said: 
“Don’t see how your bringing me the sand, if he finds 
oil sands, could be to his material injury. He knows 
of the claim; has it to meet at some date in some way. 
W 7 hat could a little bit of sand amount to?” 

“Nothin’. Ye’ll need a car load ye'll find ’n’ anuther 


THE TENTACLES BEGIN TO MOVE 


59 


one o’ gravel with it when ye begin to bump up against 
him. He’s jest the sort that’ll make fur and hair fly 
once he’s cornered,” old Milt warned. “Got the strength 
of an ox to back it. Come nigh upsettin’ my house first 
time he was gittin’ into it.” 

John Snowdon rose. He looked at his watch. Furtively 
he looked at Milt. “Nearly noon/’ he said, “and nothing 
done. Ylou go back to the hills, Milt, and bridle your 
tongue. Keep perfectly quiet about this affair. Needn’t 
pack up to move right away. If you have gathered to pay 
interest, use it. Don’t worry. And I am not seeking to 
rob Jim either. Just want my own if—just what the law 
hands to me; always abide by the law. Use it of course 
as an instrument to attain ends. What else is it for?” 

“Yes, ’n’ stretch it a good deal,” said old Milt rising. 
“My opinion is, John, ye twist it round to pinch people 
till they squeal. All law can be abused and misused. ’N’ 
my b’lief is when ye are lawbidin’ ’n’ good is when the 
law makes ye so. In my case, ye don’t want to pinch me 
now cause ’twould show bad for yer comin fight—pushin’ 
me out for not workin’ for ye in the dark. Ye moved up 
the wrong checker ’n’ now ye want it to stand still for 
a spell, eh? My opinion is*’twon’t ever git to the king- 
row. Give it another push, John, when ye’re feelin’ like 
it.” And Milt strode to the door. 

Snowdon had caught the implication. Public opinion 
would be on Milt’s side and he knew it to be grievously 
dangerous to take up arms against public opinion, law or* 
war. 

“You’ll want a good warm dinner, Mjlt, to travel back 
on,” he said, extending him a silver dollar. “Go home 
happy. You won’t be disturbed by me.” 

“Keep yer dollar. Ye’ll need it ’fore ye git through 
with Jim.” And old Milt passed out through the doors 
into the hall. He muttered to himself as he ambled 
along: “I’ve silenced his bat’ries on one corner o’ the 
battlefield for a while I guess. Hit him with a well-aimed 
wad I caPlate. Ibby’ll rest better nights; quit ’er rollin’ 
? n’ tossin’ ’n’ twittin’ me o’ havin’ a cow ’n’ five dollars 
when she married me ’n’ askin’ what has she now.” 


60 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


He turned. He had felt a light touch on the arm and 
at the same time a feminine voice, the sweetest he believed 
that he had ever heard, said: “Mr. Cobb.” It was bonnie 
Jean MacCrea, her hat on for the street. “I am Mr. 
Snowdon’s secretary,” she continued. “I saw you in the 
office. I would so love to speak with you. I am going 
out to dinner. Won’t you please come to the elevator and 
we will drop down together,” she laughed, as naturally 
as the brook ripples. Then quickly she added thought¬ 
fully: “I will tell you of a token I wish carried to the 
hills to a friend, to—Jim Snowdon,” falteringly. 

“Will I! Will I!” exclaimed old Milton, his eyes beam¬ 
ing. “To Jim Snowdon! To the best feller in Pennsyl- 
vany; and if he’s yourn, ye’ve picked a dandy!” By this 
time they were skipping for the elevator, Milt light as a 
feather from the contact with youth. There was such 
gaiety about her, such spontaneity. He felt he could pack 
a ton for her in the hills. 

Just as the elevator started Jean caught a glimpse of 
John, Jr. in the corridor, desperation on his face, parrot 
cage in hand, making giant strides to catch up with them. 
Poor Polly was to suffer eviction. Jean bit her lips to 
suppress a laugh. 


YI 


THE “ACT” AT THE ARLINGTON - CAFE 

Many curious glances were cast at the pair as they 
hastily dodged their way through the noonday crowd. 
They must avoid John Jr. He would follow by the stair¬ 
way Jean felt assured. She had formulated a plan to ask 
Milt to dinner; then over their coffee she could casually 
speak of Jim, an old acquaintance, of course, and make her 
request that he carry a packet containing a gift envelop¬ 
ing a secret message of warning, the only way she could 
plan to reach him quickly. Two doors below was a cafe, 
rather bon ton for a countryman but quick and convenient. 
Thither she guided Milt, never pausing until they were 
well within the entrance. Young Snowdon would not seek 
them there, she felt, even if he had seen them together 
before they dropped out of sight. It was not a place she 
frequented. 

“How, Mr. Cobb, you are about to dine with me,” 
she divulged, “and while we are—” 

Up went his hand in protest. “Oh, my girl, I hain’t— 
got-” 

-“time, Oh, yes, you have,” she interposed to save 

him embarrassment. “I—I want to treat you as you are 
going to do an errand for me, you know,” she began, re¬ 
ferring prematurely to her plan, “going to carry a pack¬ 
age. Oh, something Jim will be so pleased to get from his 
native land, and something-” 

“Yes, but ye hain’t got to hire me to do it. Look at 
my old hat fer sieh a scrumptious place as this,” he de¬ 
murred as he looked through the opening upon the tables 
glittering with glass and silver. There was sure to be 
curious scrutiny. 

“We will have a table all by ourselves. Take off your 
hat now, please, and follow me.” And it was such a 
sincere entreaty that she drew him after her like a magnet 

61 





G2 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


to run, as he felt, a gauntlet through a tortuous labyrinth. 
But bearing himself erect as a drum major, he took up a 
military step and drew little attention, for Jean espied 
a vacant booth at her right as they entered the hall, and 
the march was short. 

He breathed his relief in great puffs when she had him 
safely anchored, his back to the opening. Jean likewise 
felt relieved. She had not realized the attention his gro¬ 
tesque figure might attract, till she was about to pilot him 
through the crowded restaurant, and then there was no 
retreat. As they were entering the booth, a remark from 
somewhere among the diners caught her ear, something 
about “May and December,” followed by a titter; but she 
rested quite sure that the old man did not catch the mean¬ 
ing. 

“ ‘All’s well that ends well’ ” she mentally congratulated 
herself after they were happily seated. 

“Beats tarnation how quick styles change,” observed 
Malt, missing none of the new sights about him. 

“Over night,” she smilingly agreed. 

“See ye’ve kept your hat on ; s’pose I’d ought to hung 
to mine,” again he observed. 

“Oh, Mr. Cobb, do please excuse me,” she managed to 
plead; “but you do say such funny things.” And she was 
tussling in the throes of helpless mirth when the waiter 
appeared for their order. This had a sobering effect on 
Jean and she gave him a very liberal one at once. 

“Just duplicate it, please,” she was about to say, think¬ 
ing to save a scene, if Milt were asked for an order. 

Too late! The waiter gave Milt a curious glance and 
said to Jean: “What does he feed on?” 

Milt snatched his opportunity. “W’y, for the first 
course, waiter, ye might bring me some cold canary tongue 
and a keg o’ pickled elephant. Then for the next four 
miles, ‘blue fish, green fish, fish-hooks, and partridges; 
fish-balls, snow-balls, cannon-balls and cartridges; gold 
fish, cat-fish, mocking-birds ’n’ ostriches; ice cream, cold 
cream, vasaline ’n’ sandwiches; ketchup, hurry up, sweet 
kraut and sauer kraut; dished up, hashed up, with little 
spots o’ finny trout; dressed beef, naked beef ’n ? beef with 


AT THE ARLINGTON CAFE 


63 


all itvS dresses on; soda crackers, fire crackers, crackers 
served with mustard on; beef steaks ’n’ mistakes if they 
are on your bill o’ fare; roast ribs ’n’ spare ribs ’n’ ribs 
that we couldn’t spare; rein-deer ’n’ snow-dear ’n’ dear me 
V antelopes; musk-melon, musk-ox, envelopes ’n’ canta¬ 
loupes; red herrings, smoked herrings, herrin’ from old 
Erin’s Isle; Hamburg ’n’ limberg ’n’ sausages a half a 
mile; hot corn, cold corn, corn salve ’n’ honey-comb; reed 
birds, read books, sea-bass ’n’ sea-foam; fried liver, baked 
liver, Carter’s little liver pills; V how in name o’ common 
sense we ever goin’ to pay the bills.’ Pardon me, waiter, 
I plumb forgot to order desert: Tooth picks, ice picks, 
picket fence ’n’ skeppin’ rope; ’n’ we’ll wash ’em all down 
with a dozen bars o’ shavin’ soap’.” 

The lingo, from an old Irish song, run off in rhythmic 
sing-song, had been audible in every part of the room. 
There had been a hush till the finish, then hearty hand¬ 
clapping accompanied by peals of laughter. Face to the 
wall, Jean sat in a crushed and crumpled heap, utterly 
unable to extricate herself from the dilemma into which 
she had innocently walked. The "waiter had early collapsed. 
Milt, looking fresh as a sunrise, was giving a drill in the 
sword exercises with knife and fork and urging the waiter 
to bring on the “fatted calf.” 

Then began comments over the room: “They are part 
of the show tonight; came in here to advertise it to draw 
a big house.” “Isn’t he a brick?” “This will go out 
and spread like wild-fire and the opera house will be 
packed to suffocation.” “The play has never been here 
before; it’s an all-star cast.” “This is Uncle Fuller and 
his daughter, Miss Cloverbloom.” 

Then the proprietor of the place who had chanced to 
hear Milt, took advantage. “After they were booked for 
Petrolia,” he lied, “the manager came in here and ar¬ 
ranged for this act; knew my house was the best place to 
advertise, you know; knew the best people in town came 
in here. Big card he played to draw.” 

“Place them at the head table then, the ‘Guilder-sleeve,’ ” 
some one shouted, “and we’ll have more fun!” 

Jean now sat bolt upright. Her impulse was to rise 


64 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


and walk out. But what of old Milt? What story would 
he carry back to the hills? And what would Jim think! 
Milt was not there of his own volition, she reasoned. If 
she left, he would believe that she had lured him in to be 
victimized. Perhaps he believed so already. He had more 
than held his own, however, and she now felt assured 
he could hold it to the end. Should she desert him? 
The falsity of the proprietor nettled her and the Scotch 
blood of her fathers now began to asert itself. Her 
final decision was to stand by the ship. 

“Carry it through, Mr. Cobb/ she said tremblingly 
just above a whisper. “They began it.” 

The table in question, the Guilder-sleeve, so dubbed for 
the reason that the most exclusive only were privileged 
to sit around mahogany, was at the opposite end of the 
hall from the entrance. The service used there was the 
cream of cut glass and silver. Standing in an alcove, 
banked by flowers, it commanded its price of course. 

Todajq Mrs. Peter Stuyvesant-Fisk of Petrolia’s Smart 
Set, and a companion of equal social importance were 
seated at the Guilder-sleeve enjoying that particular pate 
de fois gras for which the Arlington was renowned. 

“For the—love—of heaven! what is that, Mrs. Parkins?” 
she exclaimed at Milt’s strange order. 

“It’s in th’ stalls whatever it is!” returned Mrs. Park¬ 
ins, rather inclined to laugh: “He seems to be taking 
down the house with his rigmarole.” 

But at this point in their conversation had come the call 
to promote the stars to the Guilder-sleeve. They looked at 
each other in consternation. What! were they to be 
thrown into company with—associated with vaudeville? 
Scandal. They started to rise when- 

“We want an ocean mermaid to wait on us o’ course,” 
was roared out from the box. 

“I positively stand on my dignity,” asserted Mrs. Peter 
Stuyvesant-Fisk. 

“I absolutely refuse to compromise,” protested Mrs. 
Johnston Parkins. 

The waitress soothingly assured them the idea was not 
Mr. Doolittle’s and urged them to resume their seats. 

“But” (a plan of escape had occurred to Mrs. Peter) 



AT THE ARLINGTON CAFE 


65 

‘‘we are not averse to taking that little table over there 
in the corner of the alcove if you care to move our dinner.” 

The stand in question was an overflow table for the 
Guilder-sleeve. 

Jean protested when the committee aproached them. 
Her overwrought nerves were at the snapping point. Her 
brain was in nothing short of a whirl. Fate, the hag, cuts 
some strange capers, and today at the Arlington, she 
surpassed herself. Milt requested to be left alone for 
a moment. The committee withdrew, believing he wished 
to prompt the actress for another act. In low tones, 
he urged that they continue the farce to a finish; 
he would do the performing, she need only walk up and 
dine. The Arlington people were wholly responsible for 
the part they were playing. But what if there should be 
some one in the room who knew her, she urged. True, she 
knew very few people in Petrolia and none of them were 
likely to be at the Arlington. Still, an exposure would 
cost her her position with the Snowdons. Yes, and she 
would have to flee Petrolia. 

“All the better,” reasoned Milt. “Ye e’n jest dig out 
if it gits too hot fer ye in this little one-horse Injun 
village.” 

“Where could I go and what could I do?” she pleaded 
anxiously. 

“Leave that to Jim. Ye say he lifted ye out o’ miser¬ 
able poverty once; an’ once he hears the trick that’s been 
played off on ye in here, as I cal’late to tell ’im, he’ll 
come into this place and—wal, they won’t be much o’ that 
mahogany left up there when he gits through. He’ll rid 
up some. Then he’ll find ye a better place ’n’ that blind 
tiger ye’re in now. I’d as soon set afore Lucifer. If 
they’s no other place, old Milt’s got a roof left yit big 
’nough to stick yer head under. Just foller me now ’n’ 
ye’ll wear di’mon’s.” 

She followed his lead, impelled by some force, for it 
seemed to her he was in a way a connecting link between 
her and Jim again. Dear old Jim! In years gone by he 
had acted the part of a brother when she was in dire need 
and he would not fail her now. 


66 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


P. T. Barnum, the greatest showman in his time, has it 
in his memoirs that the American people must be hum¬ 
bugged ; that they seek it, expect it, feed on it,—and he fed 
them. During one of his tours, the barker for the side¬ 
show lustily proclaimed before the canvas, a cherry-colored 
cat among the living curiosities within. It was—a black 
cherry. 

The Arlington patrons this day were ripe and frenzied 
for hum-bug. Old Milt’s costume, his plump ruddy face 
blooming as a Hollo w-Ee’en pumpkin, his shuffling goose- 
step, brought screams from the hum-bugged. Even Jean 
with trepidation and thumping heart smiled faintly. 

“0, isn’t she pretty!” approved Mrs. Peter Stuyvesant- 
Fisk as they drew near. “And doesn’t she act her part 
well, just a bashful country lass. Just see that beautiful 
hair! The simple gown becomes her. Tonight, no doubt, 
in the final act, she will sparkle with diamonds. I dis¬ 
like anything rural but that old man as Uncle Fuller is so 
perfectly artistic that one cannot resist admiring. I never 
attend rural dramas but I declare I’m tempted to go 
tonight.” 

Jean took her seat at the Guilder-sleeve, her back to 
the audience. Old Milt seated himself opposite to face the 
trouble, singing, 

“ ‘There’s many a rose in the path o’ life, 

If we would but stop to pluck it.’ ” 

Applause. 

Back and almost over his head, two miniature palms 
standing in tubs quite met in an arch. The effect was 
ludicrous. While waiting for the feast, Jean kept her eyes 
straight before her. Milt juggled with a plate whirling it 
on the end of a knife blade. This brought applause. 
That feat over, he threw up an oyster cracker and dex- 
teriously caught it in his mouth as it fell. This brought 
deafening applause. While he was thus performing, Mirs. 
Peter Stuyvesant-Fisk produced a small lorgnette and 
leveled it on Jean. 

“Mrs. Parkins, would you believe it, that peach bloom 
complexion of hers is natural.” 

“Waitin’ for that ragoo!” called Milt in the direction 
of the culinary entrance. “Is the kitchen in Chicago?” 


AT THE ARLINGTON CAFE 


67 


‘'What do you think of going tonight, Mrs. Parkins ?” 
asked Mrs. Peter. 

"By all means let us go. I am completely carried away 
with demure Miss Cloverbloom. Don’t like the old man 
overly well. What’s the name of the play?” 

“ ‘How Uncle Fuller Done the Town/ I think. We’ll 
get up a theatre party, Mrs. Parkins. When we have 
finished dinner, we’ll drive the car round to the Snowdons 
and invite them. Mrs. Snowdon is not a lover of rural 
plays but we will persuade her to try this one.” 

Jean heard this. Her color heightened. Now the dinner 
came on. In variety and abundance it nearly met old 
Milt’s grotesque order. After it had been deposited and 
the force who brought it had withdrawn, Jean spoke just 
loud enough to reach Milt’s ear: “We can never pay for 
it. We’ll be exposed right at the clerk’s desk when we 
go out.” 

“Eat, drink ’n’ be merry for to-morrer we die,” said 
Milt unperturbed. “I’ll fix a way out of it. Now eat, 
little girl, ’n’ don't worry. ‘Sufficient unto the day is 
the evil thereof,’ says old preacher Wilder. If I seen a 
rope hangin’ for me right out there by the door when 
I come out, I’d try ’n’ eat 'nough to break it down. 
Thought ye was Scotch? Ef ye be, ye hain’t showin’ 
Scotch grit. Drat ’em, we’ll fix ’em.” 

Jean began to try hard at swallowing food. Mrs. Peter 
Stuyvesant-Fisk and Mrs. Johnston Parkins withdrew. 
Milt had stopped show work and now was feasting like 
Old King Cole, when several patrons who had finished 
began to depart. 

“Hey, ye tight-wads there! Come up ’n’ tip Miss Clover- 
bloom ’fore ye hog out. In the town afore we reached this 
greedy hole, she got a bag o’ money,” called out Milt. 

It brought results. Youth, ever eager to stare at lovely 
maid, came up and poured dimes and quarters beside 
Jean’s plate, while Milt chanted: 

“ ‘By two’s ’n’ by three’s they were marchin’ up the 
dinnin’-hall, 

Young men, old men ’n’ girls that were not men at all; 

t 


68 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


Blind men, deaf men V men who had their teeth in 
pawn, 

Single men, double men ’n’ men who had their glasses 
on; 

’Twas Mss Cloverbloom that sent out the invitations, 

And all who came were a credit to their nations; 

Some came on quick-step because they had no tip to pay, 

And those who didn’t come at all made up their minds 
to stay away.’ ” 

« 

Jean almost prayed for the floor to open and let her drop 
through. Her eyes were downcast; none saw them during 
the donation. Would she ever live down this day? Never, 
she felt. There were not mountains and rocks enough 
to hide her. 

“I will go out in the lobby and wait for you there,” 
she said weakly, rising by the aid of a chair. 

“Count up yer money ’n’ take it with ye,” said Milt 
full of cheer. “I won’t be out long’s anything left here. 
Order the ambulance or a hearse fer me.” 

“I’d touch fire quicker than that money,” she said 
coldly as she started down the aisle. 

The lobby proved to be empty, much to her relief. 
When she entered, the clerk at the cash register gave her 
an admiring stare. She sought a retired corner and there 
sank down on a divan to await the coming of the gourmand. 
At last he came singing, 

“ ‘My heart is broke with pleasure 
’N’ my back it aches with ease.’ 

How much ye goin’ to tax Miss Cloverbloom for eatin’ 
nothin’?” he said, stepping up to the clerk. 

Laughing was in order now at the Arlington; the clerk 
smiled as he looked over in Jean’s direction and said: 
“Nothing for Miss Cloverbloom, but guess I’ll have to have 
a V from you for all that sea fare.” 

Milt hemed and hawed and looked down at his feet and 
said: “Wal, ’tain’t ’nough, mister, but dunno as I have 
’nough ’bout me to-day to meet it.” 

Again the clerk laughed and told him that out of admir¬ 
ation for Miss Cloverbloom they would split it halves. 


AT THE ARLINGTON CAFE 


69 


Milt fumbled around in his numerous pockets pulling 
out change and counting it only to announce that he lacked 
half a dollar. 

“0, give me two, then/’ compromised the clerk. “Say, 
Hncle Filler, there are a couple of dandy, nice fellows 
that would like to take you and Miss Cloverbloom out on 
an airplane ride this afternoon. They told me to see you 
when you came out. They are out at the aero park now. 
If you go, I am to ’phone them at two o’clock and you 
go up about half past. What say you?” 

“Suit me to a T. But Miss Cloverbloom is skeery. She 
won’t go up. Tell ’em I’ll be there on apinted time,” 
replied Milt as he walked over and seated himself beside 
Jean. 

“I’ll have ’em land me on top o’ Sam Hill ’n’ that’s 
’bout a mile from home. Bein’ a lover o’ nacher, I’ll 
jest nacherly want to wander round ’n’ dig some In jin 
turnip ’n’ sassafrack root. I’ll manage to git out o’ sight 
in the bushes; then I’ll cut my ashes for Nubbin Ridge.” 

“Oh, they’ll search for you, Mr. Cobb! cried Jean. 
“Then what ?” 

“Search the devil! Let ’em search,” he said, counting 
tip money. “I’ve a dollar left. Perty close call. Told 
ye they’d work a skin game. Now won’t ye take what’s 
left, little girl? Ye’ve dearly ernt it.” 

Jean threw up her hands in horror at the thought. 
“We must be quick. Now, here is what I wish you to 
carry to Jim. It is heather from the braes, from home,” 
she said, holding up a small box. 

“Heather. What’s that? If I’d a knowed ye had it. 
I'd a et that, too, like’s not.” 

“It’s heather from Scotland and-” 

“0, I know where that is. I used to speak in school— 
‘Scots wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,’ 
till the winders would rattle ’n’ the teacher ’d strike me 
with a whip to quit.” 

“It grows on the moors of Scotland. Jim will show it 
to you when he opens the box. B!ut even then you can not 
imagine how beautiful it is there. The delicate blossoms 
that cluster along the dainty branches have all the shades of 



70 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


pink from deepest to lightest. This is dry and faded, but 
you can still see what it must be like.” 

“Why don’t Jim plant some here?” 

“This variety can’t be transplanted, but there is a variety 
found in the Alps, in Switzerland, that can be.” 

“Switeherland. I know where that is. I used to speak 
in school— 


‘0, take me back to Switeherland, 

Upon its mountains let me stand; 

I c’n see clean over into Heligoland, 

An’ ef ’tain’t war, then I’ll be d-d, 

To whip the world ye understand.’ 

Wal, I’d git one complete brushin’ whenever I’d speak 
that piece, ’n’ no card the last day.” 

“I must be going now, Mr. Cobb,” she said rising, a 
look of dejection on her face. “Sneak back to—I don’t 
know what to call it.” 

“Call it! I’d know what to call it if I had to set there 
with that old Beelzebub,” said Milt getting up. 

They passed out the door. 

“Now, little girl, if it leaks out what them critters rigged 
up on us there, call fer Jim ’n’ me ’n’ we’ll be down here 
like the Assyrian that came down on the fold. Don’t 
ye worry nor fear ; I’ll explain to Jim how they ketched us. 
He’ll be watchin’ for any ’n’ all breakers. Jest take ye 
out o’ here to a live taown. Git ye a clickin’ job with a 
white man. Never anything happened in this world, even 
a war or a murder but what some good come out of it. 
That’s the plan I s’pose. Wal, good bye, little girl, ’n’ 
give my love to old John. ’N’ write us how the theater 
was packed to-night.” 

He watched her walk away with downcast head; but, 
instead of keeping on down the street, he saw her disappear 
into an alley. Into an alley? He started after her to 
call her back, but already she had disappeared. 



VII 


CABIN RAISING AT HERMIT SPRING 

“He-O-Heave! He-O-Heave P And now the plate tim¬ 
bers, the last logs, were going up on the double log cabin 
at the Hermit Spring. It was built in the form of two 
cribs, standing a few feet apart, and the long plates would 
reach over both compartments thus throwing alley and 
rooms under one roof when completed. The logs used 
in the structure were pine from trees left from the strip¬ 
ping of the Barrens in years past and still found in scat¬ 
tered places where the fires had not reached. The aper¬ 
tures between the logs were to be filled with cement; then 
cement floors; and rough stone fireplaces would be built at 
the outer ends, until at last a unique bit of woodcraft 
would stand in romantic isolation in the wilderness. 

The ground around the cabin, forested with a low 
growth, sloped to the east and an opening through the 
growth permitted a vista of the country below, where a 
river wound its way through meadow and grove till lost in 
the distant hills. 

Above the cabin stood the acre rock, Big Ben. When 
the hills were fashioned from the primeval deep, this soli¬ 
tary giant had been heaved to its solitary position. The per¬ 
pendicular sides rose a. scant dozen feet, the colossal mass 
spreading in broad area. The top was comparatively level, 
free from crevice, and the leaf mould of centuries had 
deepened over it till a soil had been formed of sufficient 
depth to sustain a miniature forest. The rock was a 
conglomerate; the side toward the cabin was dark gray 
in color, the surface, thickly inlaid with pebbles, black and 
pure white and dappled in places with the clinging green 
rock-moss. Evergreen ferns in exuberance grew along the 
top close to the edge and in winter many of the fronds 
were pressed down over the side by weight of the snows 
to hang in a natural frieze of green. Thus Big Ben had 

71 


72 


THE* BARON OF THE BARRENS 


stood through the ages bearing witness to rock formation 
beneath the waters. 

From beneath the rock, gushed forth the far-famed Her¬ 
mit Spring. From its basin-home in a niche of the wall, 
it first spilled over a basin-rim of rock, then glided over 
white sands between banks of fern and ozier, alder and 
birch, until at a short distance it widened into the pond 
fashioned by the Hermit to stay it for a time. Then * 
through a spill-way it slipped away again to join the waters 
below. 

Crab-apple Jones, a prominent figure of Nubbin Ridge, 
presided at the cabin-rolling. In boyhood days, he had 
seen log cabins go up and a green memory of those by¬ 
gone days enabled him to superintend this out-of-date 
job without compeer. Tall, angular, tough and withey as 
iron-wood, he commanded a certain respect as he walked 
about and pushed the lifting by lusty shouts. He had 
earned the sobriquet of Crab-apple, or Crab, by arresting 
two boys for climbing the fence around his orchard and 
gathering up a handful of fruit. The incident had 
happened many years ago but the name still stuck. 

Nicknaming was a habit dear to the Nubbin Ridge peo¬ 
ple. It meant no disrespect for the subject, but was a 
custom practised much the same as Indians give names 
to members of the tribe for some act, trait, likeness or 
happening. Others in the crew that day bore fitting titles. 
There was Fox-trot Bentley, so known because of his trot¬ 
ting gait; Salt Purdy, distinguished for shipping a firkin of 
butter to a Pittsburgh house and receiving a notice by wire 
that they had a salt contract with a Syracuse firm but not 
with him; and Knotty Ferguson likewise distinguished for 
a delivery of lumber and the receipt of a card which read: 
“Knotholes received. Please send knots.” 

Mlany hands were there that day, the invited, the un¬ 
invited, all welcome and all to be treated to a dinner now in 
preparation. Cad, who was acting as chef, was now 
down in the hemlocks roasting a large shoat over a camp 
fire, a generous barbecue, for beside the workers, young 
and old were in attendance out of sheer curiosity. A cabin 
three miles up in the hills from the nearest highway! 

“Craziest move ever I heerd of. Mtist be a pair o’ 


CABIN RAISING AT HERMIT SPRING 73 


bughouses/’ mumbled old Uriah Carter to his companion, 
old Zebulon Hatch. They were seated on a timber, rest¬ 
ing their chins on their canes and viewing the folly with 
shrewd eyes. 

“Wonder what they built double for?” mused Uncle 
Carter, further. 

“Mebby the critters intend to git married ’n’ one live 
in each end, makin’ handy neighbors,” commented the 
other. “Wonder when their drillin’ rig’ll be here?” 

“Guess they start movin’ it up from Comfort tomorrer. 
More excitement up here now ’n’ a house afire. Take a 
pile o’ money it will. That tall, head feller must have a 
good w r ad of it; teams haulin’ from Comfort. Riley 
Henshaw is here with his team now, drawin’ stone for the 
fire-stacks; a mason cornin’ tomorrer to build ’em. Then 
he’s goin’ to build a dam below with wheels ’n’ belts to 
run his drill. Thinks it’ll be as cheap or cheaper than a 
boiler ’n’ engine ’n’ after the drillin’ is done goin’ to use 
it to make ’lectricity.” 

“I want to know !” said old man Hatch. “What’s he 
goin ? to do with light’nin’ up here?” 

“0, goin’ to light his buildin’s ’n’ run machinery round 
’em with it. Goin’ to clear up a ranch, I heer; think 
they wrnnt to stay here forever sence they seen this spring 
’n’ rock. That ’n’, that wild man that’s down there now 
in the woods roastin’ hog, I heerd ’im tell Riley he wanted 
to be buried right here beside this big rock.” 

“Might spile the spring water,” said Hatch; but the 
words had not left his tongue before a shout from Crab- 
apple Jones routed them out of their quarters and sent 
them hobbling for places of safety. 

“Git off o’ that plate there, you two old gossips, ’n’ 
back where you won’t git killed,” was what he shouted at 
them. Crab-apple that day was carrying as a side-line 
a large red-ripe early-rose boil on his neck and was apt 
to let it spoil his usual good nature. “Last plate, boys,” 
he had' no sooner called than hands were after it with 
pikes. 

“He-O-IIeave! He-O-Heave!” 

After it left the skids, up, up it rose, the end where 


74 


THE- BARON OP THE BARRENS 


Snowdon was lifting always higher as had been the case 
all day, though Hannibal Hayhow, the all-powerful of Sal 
King township, with a chosen coterie, had elected to take 
the opposite end. Snowdon’s unboasted strength had. 
caused a growing admiration, for as the forenoon wore on 
it seemed only to increase as he warmed up to the task. 
They were beginning to regard him as a superman and 
with reason, for when he settled himself under this last 
timber for the final hoist, he displayed a strength like that 
of the aurochs. 

“He-O-Heave! Let up a little, Snowdon,” yelled Jones 
with no slight apprehension, “or you’ll throw the hull 
weight back down onto them at ’tother end. He-O-Heave, 
Hayhow gang! Up with your end now,”—and the plate 
rested on top of the wall, followed by cheers from part of 
the crowd only, for the Havhow faction had been outdone 
in a match secretly planned by themselves. 

To be strenuous in the woods is to be king, and the 
cup of strength had been wrested that day from the 
erstwhile champion and passed over to an unsuspecting 
winner. But it carried a sting in it, a desire for revenge. 

After the final lift, James stepped upon a block to 
face the throng. When the cheers had subsided sufficiently 
he said: “Gentlemen, the work you have done here to-day 
is much appreciated. I wfill settle for it after dinner. 
We will now go down into Egypt for corn—to the camp 
I mean and-” 

“Git off’n my coat will ye!” broke in a shout from 
Crab-apple to the two old refugees who, comfortably 
camped on that garment, were interestedly listening to 
Jim. x\fter they had made their second scramble that day 
from the trenchant voice of the irritable boil-ridden master 
of ceremonies, old man Carter at a safe distance grumbled: 
“I’ve seen the day I c’d whup ’im blind.” 

James, not a little annoyed at the treatement the old 
men had received, proceeded:—“and perhaps find some¬ 
thing filling. I invite all; those who worked and those 
who came to pay me a visit. I appreciate visitors, too. 
This afternoon, as many as can stay to help with the roof, 
I would like your assistance.” 

This simple speech was the cause of wilder cheers. 



CABIN RAISING AT HERMIT SPRING 75 


Some one who had caught the name “Baron of the Bar¬ 
rens,” from Cad in some of his erratic speeches, now sug¬ 
gested that title, which was lustily given, a name James 
often bore after that gala day at the Hermit Spring—a day 
thoroughly enjoyed and long remembered by his homely 
neighbors. For him their friendship now was sealed, ex¬ 
clusive of Hannibal Hayhow. 

Now began a hustle for the camp. For the camp site, 
James had selected a sequestered glade in a hemlock 
thicket of low growth near the brook. Here they had 
pitched their tent and, sheltered from the winds by the 
green curtain of boughs all about, they found it an ideal 
lodge for the out-of-door life of which they were equally 
fond. With the tent-walls pinned tight to the ground, 
the canvas door-flap drawn, a crackling hickory-wood fire 
in the sheet-iron stove, an oil lamp hanging from the lodge 
tpole, the place was snug even though the nights were 
growing cold. At first they had seriously thought of trying 
the tent for the winter but finally decided it would be 
too close a hug with nature on a zero morning. 

In the center of the glade, a fire had been lighted in 
the morning. A professional colored chef from Petrolia, 
supported by Cadmus Allen, had been broiling, roasting, 
smoking, burning meat, coffee and potatoes over blaze 
and coals all the forenoon. Cadmus for his part when he 
was not carrying wood was usually burning his fingers 
and rubbing his eyes from smoke, injuries which he ac¬ 
cepted very cheerfully, however. The shoat had been 
roasted in a large sheet-iron pan with cover; the potatoes, 
in a pit covered with hot coals; and the coffee was con¬ 
tinually kept just at a seething heat in the large boiler. 
Such was the process of the feast. But the reprehensible 
Allen and the ebony chef had early fallen out when Cad 
had recommended Doan’s pills to improve the complexion. 
Thus they were at logger-heads and the chef looked in a 
rather ugly mood when Jim came running up to him with 
orders for the serving arrangement. 

“Say, boss,” he began, “say, boss, yo’alls done got a 
good man heah to help cook. Say, boss, he suah am. 


76 


THE* BARON OF THE BARRENS 


Wuked hisself mos’ blind dis mawnin’. Wuked hisself 
powaliful hahd, boss, powahful hahd.” 

This drew the attention of the crowd and silence fell. 
Jim looked annoyed. He scented mischief. 

“Wuked powahful hahd, boss/’ continued the colored 
gentleman. 

“What at?” ventured Jim. 

“Done nuffin but roast pig tail on de* coals an’ eat it, 
boss. Powahful much help, dat gem’man.” 

None laughed jlonger or louder than Cad and the 
erstwhile offended negro, believing that he was more than 
even now, was a continual burst of brays as he shuffled 
around, aproned and capped, filling trays with the palatable 
fa#^. Seated in a circle on the ground around the dying 
embers of the great camp-fire, the builders cracked their 
jokes and laughed their loudest as their plates were heaped 
with juicy meat and browned potatoes covered over with 
rich brown gravy. The glade was a babble of voices. The 
sun cast a mellow glow down into the opening and they 
revelled in ease and warmth. 

Old Hatch was first to catch attention from the entire 
circle. Keeping his wisp of chin whiskers in perpetual 
bob, he said with a touch of pathos, “Only I wuz a boy 
agin!” And James then quoted the first verse of “The 
Boys” by merry old Dr. Holmes. 

“That air’s a perty good rhyme,” praised old man Car¬ 
ter, taking a deep draught of coffee. “Wonder why Milt 
Cobb ain’t to school to-day? He’s never out when they’s 
anything promised to eat.” 

James had wondered often, too, that day why he was 
not there. Milt claimed to have been a wheel-wright in 
his time and thus it had been on the strength of what 
he proposed to do with a. water power at the Hermit Spring 
that James had engaged him to install a works. He was 
to have been there that morning. 

“I crossed ’is fields this morn in’ on my way over here 
an’ I seen ’im goin’ down the road afoot toward Petrolia, 
all sails to the breeze. Went as though he was goin’ to 
or runin’ from a fire. Likely Aunt Ibby came off the nest 
cross this mornin’ an’ put ’im on the wing after some- 


CABIN 1 RAISING AT HERMIT SPRING 77 


thin 5 ,” came a voice from the opposite side of the ring. 

A snapping of dry twigs from beyond a spot where the 
hemlocks grew thickest around the enclosure now drew 
attention. After listening a moment, when the sound was 
not repeated, they resumed the talk and feasting. 

“Milt’s queer; but if ye are in need of a friend in 
deviltry I’ve found he’s right on the job an’ a stayer,” 
chimed in Crab-apple Jones. 

The snapping was repeated. They listened again. 

“Likely some dog,” accounted Riley Henshaw. 

Barely had he uttered the words when from the dense 
copse crashed something, the first sight of which struck 
terror to the boldest heart there that day. They sat 
motionless as if petrified. Straight for the darkey who 
was sitting apart amidst the pans and pots ran a dread 
figure, wrapped in a fiery red blanket reaching below the 
knees. The head was feather-covered but for a strip across 
the eyes; for ears there were wings. A shriek such as is 
possible only to the black race escaped that negro as he 
somersaulted backward and, by some caper not designed, 
lit upon his feet. Another bound and he was clear from 
sight, from hearing, as if he were not and never had been. 
The strange creature stopped at the point where the negro 
had started and shed its blanket. Then off came the grue¬ 
some head-gear, and what stood there was just the harmless 
Cadmus Allen. 

Jim Snowdon was on his feet that instant. So rapid 
had been the farce that not a muscle had moved in the 
ring till now. He was visibly angry. Eyes that never 
had looked anything but affection for Allen before, now 
fairly blazed. Had Cad gone a step too far ? It was now 
dawning upon him that he had. He stood returning 
Snowdon’s furious gaze with an attempted smile. Neither 
spoke. Yet Cad saw that Jim was struggling to gain 
mastery over a sudden gust of temper—something unusual 
for him to give way to. 

“Aw, that wasn’t nawthin’!” came a boy’s voice, some 
champion for the thoughtless Cad. 

It proved the key to Snowdon’s voice and guttrally 
deep he asked: “Cad—why did—you do that?” 


78 


THE' BARON OF THE BARRENS 


“To help the coon make quick time hack to Petrolia, 
Jim. Weren't you through with him yet? I can wash 
the dishes.” 

The tension now relaxed and the crowd became a rolling, 
tumbling mass of howls and screams of laughter as they 
recalled the flip-flop of the darkey. 

“Where’d you git the feathers?” “When did you fix 
’em?” “Where’d you git the blanket?” were questions that 
came between bursts of ecstatic delight. 

Jim stood quietly by till the noise died down somewhat 
before he spoke again. 

“Don’t suppose it’s of any use to call after him and 
try to get him back,” he said, turning to Riley Henshaw. 

“Call ’im! He’s in Petrolia by this time, apern ’n’ all!” 
And Rileyi doubled in convulsions again. 

“Bet he’ll be troubled some with hoarseness to-morrer,” 
said old Carter. 

“He’ll be stiff-jinted fer life,” reckoned old man Hatch. 

“He turned white I bet at the sight,” commented Fox 
Trot Bentley. 

“There his coat and hat hang in the bunk-tent. Cad 
Allen, you are the man that’ll go to Petrolia and settle 
with him for this farrago job,” said Snowdon, deeply 
deploring the occasion. 

“Jim, you never can, get within ten miles of him if he 
knows it,” answered Cad. “He’ll think us and our money 
hoodooed. No, you can never settle with Rasmus Green. 
He kept telling me all morning you’d pay the fiddler for 
your grand soiree; that he intended to charge you just 
double for coming out here in the woods and cooking foil 
these cannibals. I shot an owl the other day behind the 
tent and left it there. I slipped an old thin sack out there 
this morning and times, when I wasn’t carrying wood, I cut 
out a head piece, sewed it up, picked the owl and stuck in 
the feathers. The blanket I took from our bed-cot. When 
you began eating, I disappeared into the tent, got the 
blanket, crept out under the canvas and into the bush. 
You all know the rest. Rasmus won’t soak you double 
mow, Jim.” 


CABIN RAISING AT HERMIT SPRING 


79 


“No, I think his rates will be ruther reasonable,” com¬ 
mented Salt Purdy. 

“Well, let us finish dinner if Cad can behave long 
enough to let it go on,” said Jim, dropping down again. 

“Now the cannibal is gone ’n’ mebby he won’t take us 
down on top o’ that ham he was devourin’. Mebby good 
thing the exhibition was pulled off,” said Crab-apple Jones, 
as they resumed the feast. 

By evening the roof of the cabin was nearly completed. 
And when the last of the workers departed at nightfall 
for their homes, they unanimously voted the new neighbors 
capital employers and entertainers, Cadmus as usual fur¬ 
nishing the thrills of the day. 


VIII 


HOME 

Home. A genuine Saxon word! It is the foundation 
stone of all the languages spoken by mankind. Be its 
import but a memory of a sand-blown tent in the mind 
of the wandering nomad of the desert it endures and 
wakens the same endearment that the buttressed castle 
stirs in the heart of the exiled noble. Speak the word to 
the criminal in his cell on the eve of execution and wit¬ 
ness his agony of remorse. Speak it to the wanderer, the 
wayward, the outcast and note the anguish that undying 
memory brings back afresh. 

What did the word waken in Jim Snowdon’s mind as 
Cad uttered it? Jim, seated on the cot in the tent, was 
softly twanging the strings of a guitar on the evening of 
the cabin-raising at Hermit Spring. In the little sheet- 
iron stove, pine-knots were crackling and blazing in the 
light of an oil lamp hanging from the tent-top. Cad 
lounged on a blanket down by the fire, listening to the 
melody that Jim hummed to the accompaniment of the 
instrument. 

“Sing a song of home, of Scotland.” 

At the word “home,” Jim was back in his own beloved 
country. He saw once more the clachan in the glen where 
the bagpipes still shrilled by the loch; where the four ways 
met at the auld licht kirk, the spire a lodestone for rever¬ 
ent thought, the kirk-yard where the granite cruelly 
marked the place of—he groaned. 

Cad lifted his head suddenly at the sound. The fea¬ 
tures of his friend were painfully changed. Cad, realizing 
he had awakened some bitter memory, cried out in remorse: 
“Oh, Jim, old boy, I didn’t mean to-” 

“You asked me to sing,” and Jim, plucked the strings 
again and sang: 


80 



HOME 


81 


“ ‘By yon bonnie banks, an’ by yon bonnie braes, 

Where the snn shines bright on Loch Lomon’, 

Where me an’ my true love were ever wont to gae, 

On the bonnie, bonnie banks o’ Loch Lomon’. 

‘Oh, ye’ll tak’ the high-road an’ I’ll tak’ the low-road, 
An’ I’ll be in Scotland afore ye, 

But me an’ my true love will never meet again. 

On the bonnie, bonnie banks o’ Loch Lomon.’ ” 

Cad understood: Jim was singing a heart-broken truth. 
At times Cad’s nature was extremely emotional. He rose 
and went to the door where he stood looking out into the 
gloom. Deeply as he regretted the pain he had caused, 
an irresistible sympathy impelled him to speak further. 

“Why, never meet again?” 

The answer came steadily with a pathos such as only 
simplicity can give: “A farewell ow’re her casket in the 
kirk-yard I was forced tae gie tae meet nae mair.” 

Cad had never heard him speak in his native dialect 
before. As he turned Jim gave a sob, and turned over 
on the cot. Cad walked back to where he was lying. 
At the tender touch of the boy’s hand, the older man grew 
quieter. Cad began a cheerful, if forced, talk of the pres¬ 
ent, with good effect, for soon the old-time composure was 
restored. 

“Say, Jim,” began Cad in his usual vein, for trouble 
was incompatible with his buoyant nature, “Say, Jim, we 
were to set a trap to-night, don’t you remember, at the 
pond to catch that coon that’s after the trout Milt brought 
you to stock it with? Don’t you think you can breast 
the world again and outgeneral that coon? Come on now. 
Bise, go forth into the moonlight. The night is perfect 
and calling us. Come.” 

“Cad! Does the old home never call you back? Do 
you never see faces you will never see again? A mother, 
Cad, that-” 

“Oh, it’s the miserables again! Home! Yes, I had 
one, but I beat it soon as I got big enough to turn grind¬ 
stone. Out of this bunk now! Shake your lazy limbs! 



82 


THE* BARON OF THE BARRENS 


Break away. Must have caught it from Jerashy Henshaw. 
Brought me to this owl’s roost up here for health and 
happiness and now make it as dismal as you can. I’ll 
throw some coals onto the bed, if you don’t move, and 
tire you out.” 

Cad pulled down two heavy woolen sweaters from the 
tent-pole, for the night was frost}^. Then he procured a 
steel trap from under the cot, a slice of bacon from the 
provision box, and they were ready. 

Moonlight in the hills—a soft shimmer through the 
trees upon the deep blanket of leaves. As Jim swung 
along over the crackling path men would have envied his 
robust figure and women would have looked twice and, 
oftener perhaps, were there a sly opportunity. Behind 
came Cad and he, too, was good to look upon, “light of 
heart and fancy free.” As they neared the pond where 
the woods opened, they paused enraptured. The moon 
had turned the waters to molten silver and the birches 
bordering ' the rim spread their boughs over a sheet of 
phantom water. 

“Tell you. Cad, what I am going to do next spring. See 
those two knolls over on the other side? There’s a deep 
sink beyond them. A channel can be made to let water 
from this lake into that hollow. Then, w y e’ll fix a dam 
to keep that second lake filled. It will be an ideal place 
for water plants. They require warm, stagnant water 
(Cad held his nose) and muck bottom in which to root 
to make them thrive and bloom. I’ll get corms of the 
white water-lily, start them in tubs, then settle them in 
their new home and border it all with rushes, wake-robin, 
for-get-me-nots, gentian and whatever loves the damp. 
When the pool is covered wdth those waxen white lily 
blooms. Cad-” 

“When the pool is filled with those bloomin’ bullfrogs, 
Jim-” 

“When you see the lilies in daytime. Cad, you will 
whistle and never think of frogs,” laughed Jim. 

“When you hear the frogs in the night-time, Jim, you 
w r ill curse and never think of lilies,” returned Cad. 

“Cad,” began Jim with some deliberation, “Cad, I’ve 




HOME 


83 


diagnosed your case and I have arrived at. an ultimate 
conclusion.” 

“Well, Doctor, what is the nature of the pest? Is it 
ketchin’?” laughed the irrepressible. 

“You are a confirmed cynic.” 

“Glad Fm not a leper,” rejoiced Cad. “What is a 
cynic ?” 

“In common parlance, you are the off-ox. Opposition 
is your creed.” 

At that Cadmus vigorously began fanning himself with 
his cap while he puffed and blew. “That’s a hot one, 
Doctor. You don’t think I’ll live to reach the tent again, 
do you? Lucky I haven’t a touch of heart disease. I’d 
have fallen over dead when you stated my case. You 
draw your conclusion from my opposing your project of 
fitting up a fever hole here in this Eveless Eden to fill 
up with bull frogs to croak till nothing sleeps here in these 
woods. I was raised on the edge of a frog-pond and I know 
their quality. They are like you. They are always saddest 
when they sing.” 

With difficulty Jim avoided laughing at the satire. 

“You are as easy to convince as a dervish. Come, let’s 
look at the cabin, and Big Ben in the moonlight. How 
like Scotland this spot could be. If there were crags and 
peaks it would carry me back.” 

“How you are heading straight for another fit, Jim. 
Just hold it off till we set the trap to catch the coon that 
is prowling here nights to catch your fish, the only live 
creatures you possess. Then, if I had dynamite, I’d blow 
that big rock to kingdom come, burn the cabin, dry up 
the spring and turn you back to civilization. I didn’t take 
you seriously at first, but now I am blest if I don’t believe 
you are bent on anchoring down here to mull your life 
away.” 

“With you, Cad, how could I ever grow lonely here, you 
old bundle of unexpected changes. Yes, here we live, oil 
or no oil. Above Big Ben that level country can be con¬ 
verted into a wonderful farm. These hills when partially 
cleared will be a natural grazing place for sheep. Like 
Job in the land of Uz we will foster herds and flocks and 


84 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


be of use in the world helping furnish the sustenance of 
man. I like old Job, the farmer, best of all the Old Testa¬ 
ment characters. He was progressive, patient, upright in 
the sight of the Lord and his house clean of scandal. There 
are many posibilities of promise in these old rock-ribbed 
hills and, quoting old Milt, 

“ ‘There’s many a rose in the path of life, 

If we would but stop to pluck it.’ ” 

To which Cad quickly subjoined: 

“ ‘There are two thorns for every rose, 

Be careful how you snatch it.’ 

“Do you want me to become a hermit or a monk; dry 
up here an old bachelor in these hills (he w r as fastening 
the chain of the trap to the roots of a sapling) ? Don’t 
think that kind of a life appeals to my taste (spreading 
the trap and fastening the key under the pan). I haven’t 
quarreled with you long enough to quit for awhile (push¬ 
ing into the ground a stick with a forked top and fasten¬ 
ing the bacon) ; but don’t bank too much on my staying up 
in this roost to die single (raking light mould and leaves 
over the chain and trap to thwart man-made scent and to 
obscure it). There, Racoon, is allurement.” 

“Living up here will not necessarily be prohibitive of 
matrimony,” alleged Jim, starting back for the tent. 

“Who worth having would come into this howling wild¬ 
erness, forty miles from nowhere?” 

“She is waiting. The fairies will show her to you in 
their own good time. You may find her in a bower of 
bloom on the margin of the pool, hidden in the lilies that 
are to blossom there. Wait.” 

When they re-entered the tent, Cad replenished the fire. 
Rolled in their cozy blankets, they did not sleep at first, 
but lay for a time listening to the voices of the night. 
An owl hooted to his mate. 


HOME 


85 


“ ‘His hoot on the hill 
Sends water to milk/ ” 

i 

said James. "We must hurry that cabin and the oil rig 
while this good weather lasts. It may bother us to get 
that water wheel installed, though I much doubt if it can 
be made practical for drilling, and the outfit brought up 
here before the weather breaks. I expected Milt here to¬ 
day to begin on the wheel.” 

“He is to bring me a pup, a collie, w r hen he comes,” 
returned Cad sleepily, more interested in a dog than in an 
oil well. 

The pert bark of a fox came from the opposite hill-side 
and the tremulo of a screech-owl from a tree near by. 

“When I get a dog and gun there’ll be a holocaust in 
these woods ’round here,” murmured Cad and Jim knew 
then how to keep him. 

Then the whinny of a coon from somewhere above the 
cabin advised them of his approach for fish and bacon. A 
porcupine gnawed with saw-filing sound on a dead hemlock 
and Cadmus closed his heavy eye-lids to dream of a dog 
and gun. 



IX 


HEATHER FROM THE BRAES 

Cad was up next morning long before the day began. 
A fire that would have warmed the out-of-doors was soon 
roaring in the stove. Jim, roused by the brisk stir around 
him, lay watching the preparations for an early breakfast. 
It was as yet intensely dark and quiet save for the drop¬ 
ping of leaves. The fur and feathered tribe had had their 
concert and had sought their hiding places as day brought 
dangers. In fine fettle worked the cook. He boiled water 
for the coffee and the cereal, fried sliced potatoes and 
warmed meat left from the barbecue; and when he had the 
batter stirred for the cakes, made from “Aunt Jinny’s 
Ready Pancake Flour,” a peep outside convinced him that 
day was dawning. 

“Jim, there is a budding chance for you this morning 
to practice flopping dodgers while I run up to the trap 
and see what the catch has been,”—as he hustled on a 
sweater and cap. “Lend me your revolver?” 

“Sure,” replied Jim, springing out of bed and hurrying 
into his clothes. “Afraid I’ll spoil your cakes. Feel like 
I could eat my weight. Growing hungrier every minute.” 

“Keep stirring the cereal. Don’t let it burn! I’ll drag 
in a bear.” 

Before long a report from the gun apprised Jim that 
the trapper had not been disappointed. He now poured 
batter onto the griddle, assured his cakes would be a suc¬ 
cess, stirred the cereal and made more cakes. The hunter 
seemed slow in returning. Down the path he finally came, 
heralded by a scent stout enough to smother all in the 
woods. 

“Don’t you dare to come in here,” shouted Jim in des¬ 
peration; “you’ll ruin this breakfast.” 

“I’m 0. K., Jim. Like the flower that is born to blush 
unseen, I’m happy to tell you most of the fragrance was 

'86 


HEATHER FROM THE BRAES 


87 


wasted on the desert air. Bring me out some clothes and 
I’ll hang these on the bushes to air. It’s a pure black and 
its hide is worth ten dollars. Say, we’ll make a mint 
of money here in these hills this winter. Don’t care if 
we never see a drop of oil, do you? Wow! but won’t I 
have a time trapping and hunting! My dog may be here 
today ! What’s that ?” 

They stopped eating to listen. A voice was lifted in 
song, the words clearly audible through the clear morning 
air: 

“ ‘David had a banjo ’n’ he kep’ it strung, 

’jSP he ’ranged the music accordin’; 

’N’ he played a tune called: ‘Go it while yer young,’ 
’N’ they danced it on the other side o’ Jordan.’ ” 

“Old Milt!” cried Cad, jubilant. “Oh, say, man, we 
are beginning a large day. Everything will be doing.” 

“ ‘David an’ Goliah walked out to take a game, 

David said Goliah was a cheatin’; 

David held the ace while Goliah held the spades 
’jNT’ the trump was on the other side o’ Jordan. 

‘David ’n J Goliah walked out to take a fight, 

Old father Warner went out to part ’em, 

David up with a stone, hit Goliah on the shin, 

’N’ it bounded on the other side o’ Jordan. 

‘The elephant ’n’ flea went down to the brook, 

The flea got a plank for to cross on; 

The elephant sunk in plump up to his knees, 

’N’ it sounded on the other side o’ Jordan.’ 

“Hey, you bushwhackers!” as old Milt thrust his 
wrinkled countenance ruddy with the morning crispness 
in at the door. “What you been talcin’ for your breaths, 
this morning 5 ?” 

“Come in, come in,” chorused the pair. 

“Milt, where is my dog?” 

“Here, Lark! Come, Lark!” and through the curtained 


88 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


door bounded a half-grown collie of good pedigree, judged 
by the glossy coat with its patches of black and white. 
Knowingly he placed his fore-paws upon Cad’s leg and 
barked, to be rewarded by a bone. Stroking the sleek 
coat of the animal, the delighted master addressed him 
in a language dogs might have understood, now oblivious 
of other companions. 

“Come, Mr. Cobb, and have some coffee,” said James 
who had been arranging a place for him at the box-table. 
“We’ve plenty of breakfast for all including Cad’s crony. 
After your long walk you must be very hungry again.” 

“I won’t need to be coaxed eny. I was off my perch 
airly this mornin’; I’d a come over-” 

“Wjhere’d you get the purp ?” cut in Cad. 

“Never you mind where I got the dog. Children mus’n’t 
ask too many questions. As I was sayin’, I’d a come last 
night, then I’d a been better fer a big day’s work but I 
couldn’t git any one to stay with Ibby. Don’t know what 
that old womern is cornin’ to any way. When I got back 
from; Petrolia yisterday, found her locked up in the house 
scairt ready to fly the coop. Vowed ’n’ declared she’d 
seen a nigger crossin’ the fields ’n’ ’cordin’ to her tell, he 
must a been goin’ hell bent for ’lection. Says he was 
dressed in white ’n’ she takes it as a sure sign shei’ll be 
a corpse in less ’n’ a week. I combed the Ridge last night 
to see if any one else had seen one round ’n’ nobody else 
had heerd or seen any. But some o’ the men that had 
jest got home from here would do nothin’ but snicker ’n’ 
laf when I’d talk of it. Wonder if they thought Ibby was 
romancin’ ?” 

“Mlaybe it was the Hillside-Mooney dolled up in a new 
fall costume,” hinted Cad. 

Burning on a quick draught of the coffee he took to 
hide his feelings, wide open flew Milt’s mouth! 

“Didn’t hold it long ’nough, to scald bad,” he replied 
to Jim’s question. “ ’Twan’t jest table etiket but I’ve 
too many uses for my mouth to boil it out at the table. 
Coffee must have been some’rs near a fire by the taste. 
Yes, thanky, I’ll have another cake.” 

“Milt, you missed more fun yesterday than a box of 



HEATHER FROM THE BRAES 


89 


snakes by not attending the frolic. How could you chain 
yourself tight enough to keep away?” 

“Fun? Jacob’s cattle! So long sense I’ve had eny I’m 
’fraid it might give me hiccups. I had to gird up my loins 
and make a journey unto Petrolia. I nurse a mor’gage 
that crawls into bed with me nights ’n’ crawls out with 
me mornin’s. They’re mighty unpleasant bed-fellers let 
me tell ye if ye never harbored one. This time it had kep’ 
Ibby from Snorin’ ’n’ I just had to go down ’n’ see if I 
c’d git it poulticed to keep it from eatin’ deeper. That’s 
why my corporal porosity was not at the bee.” 

He was silent a moment. Sympathy for his financial 
straits led Jim to inquire who held the mortgage. 

“Your esteemed uncle o’ course. They hain’t eny trou¬ 
ble goin’ ’thout him in it. He’s alius lookin’ out fer his 
pound o’ flesh,” answered Mjlt, carrying half a pancake 
to his mouth on his knife. 

James grew thoughtful. ‘’‘Is it a large debt and when 
is it due, Mr. Cobb?” 

From the tone of voice, Milton began to feel there 
was a deeper interest manifested than mere curiosity would 
excite. He gave the amount of the obligation, the time 
it was overdue, adding that John Snowdon had secured 
it with no other purpose than to hold him cornered. 

Jim quickly surmised that the present value of the 
property was worth more than the debt. It was worth 
saving. 

“Does he wish to foreclose?” he inquired. 

“Ain’t feverish to do it sence yisterday’s debate. Yes, 
thanky, I’ll take another cake.” 

Jim was silent for a moment. 

“Well, let him do it, Mr. Cobb. Quicker the better. If 
he does, we will shift the debt into more tolerant hands. 
Arrange it so that you can remain in your home, you 
know.” 

Old Milt could hardly refrain from giving Jim a bear- 
hug. From his troubled mind such a weight had been 
so suddenly lifted that he gave one resounding war-whoop 
instead of words of thanks, and capered about the tent 
with the lightness of youth. 

“Wal,” he began as he seated himself on a keg by the 


90 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


stove at the finish of avowedly the best meal he had eaten 
since the days of fire-places, “the real news, the latest 
sensation, is yit to come, Jim. Wouldn’t wonder but 
Petrolia got a shakin’ up last night that set her to quakin’ 
bad’s Charlestown the time o’ the earthquake down there. 

“When I left the office yisterday of Snowdon and Son." 
Milt resumed as he raked a coal from the fire to light his 
pipe, “I hadn’t more'n cleared the door till some one called 
me by name. ’Twas a female voice ’n’ I thought the 
pertiest I ever had heerd. Wal, who should come steppin' 
up but a girl with a face like a rose-bud. She begun to 
inquire about ye right off, said ye had been a good true 
friend o’ hern ’n’ a heap more things about ye. She is 
typewriter to your Uncle John. Said her name was Jane 
MaCracken-” 

“Jean MacCrea!” exclaimed Jim, his face radiant at 
the news while Cad sat up to listen, neglecting his dog. 

“Wal, Jane MacCray, then,” Milt continued. “She’d 
heerd ye was my neighbor and wanted to heer of ye but 
’twan't no good place there to gas so we dropped down 
the cultivator together so swift I felt for mv hat when 
we landed, thinkin’ I*d parted from it above. But ’twas 
on as before. Wal, when we got out in the hall, she seemed 
to be in a hurry to git away; kep’ lookin’ for some one. 
I s’pose I looked awful ern’ty to her—’twas noon ’n’ I was 
eight miles from home ’n’ not a cent in my pockets. She 
lookd sad ’n’ anxious like but still kep’ smilin’. Wal, 
she hit on the idee to take me to dinner ’n’ there we could 
talk. Wanted to send a little box to ye, too. I hated to 
let her pay for the grub, still I was hungrier than I was 
this mornin’ so I wan't hard to coax and we dropped in at 
the Arlin’ton calf—somethin’.” 

Here he paused in his narrative and from an inner coat 
pocket drew forth a small box neatly wrapped in white 
paper and handed it to Snowdon. “She didn't know ex¬ 
actly where ye got yer mail ’n’ so used me to insure safe 
’n’ swift delivery,” lie said, proud of her confidence. 

James opened the box with eager hands. On the top 
there lay a note; beneath, wrapped in dainty tissue-paper, 
was the heather. Carefully he unfolded the precious gift. 



HEATHER FROM THE BRAES 


91 


Though somewhat dried, the pink shades of the flowers 
were yet wonderfully bright, the green of the leaves but 
slightly changed—the piney texture of the plant rendering 
it slow to wither and fade. Pleasant memories of his 
native heath clung around this token. It brought before 
him afresh the time of year when the moors and braes 
were pink with its bloom. But he passed it over quickly 
for Cad to examine while he read the note. It read: 

“My dear friend James: 

“I hear you have returned and are now in the hills. You 
will be surprised to know I am in your uncle’s employ. 
After my aunt died, I came to Petrolia in answer to his 
‘ad 7 for a stenographer, thinking he might be like you and 
I might find a friend again. You can guess my disappoint¬ 
ment ! I don’t wonder at the estrangement between you; 
that you left for the West. They have a hold on you, Jim 
—on the Barrens. They already have spies in the hills. 

“Is this espionage work, while in their employ, dishonor¬ 
able ? It can’t be when they strike at you. I feel I never 
can repay the debt I owe you. 

“I received a box of heather from home quite recently 
and I am dividing it. 

“Ever your sincere friend, 

“Jean MacCrea.” 

i 

“Bonnie Jean ! I’ll not forsake you in time of trouble— 
never.” James folded the note and slipped it into an inner 
pocket of his blouse. 

“How old’s this Jane McCracken, er Jane McCrane, 
I should say?” 

“Oh—guess about twenty-two. Jean is an orphan. 
When her mother died she was left homeless and penniless. 
Her only near relative was an aunt here in America. It 
was then I was ready to come to this country and I brought 
her with me to her friends. They were poor but they 
gladly took her in and we—they—helped her through 
school. But, tell me about the dinner at the Arlington 
before we go to work.” 

The old man made a fantastic but convincing tale of 
the impromptu vaudeville. His concern for Jean was real. 


92 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


At the end of the recital Jim rose quickly. “You say 
the last you saw of Jean, she disappeared down an alley.” 

Milt nodded. 

“Cad/’ said James, turning to Allen, “I am going to 
Petrolia. Riley is coming round by way of Comfort with 
his car this morning. Fll hire it or hire him to take me. 
Want to go along?” 

“Think I might be of any use?” 

“Might. Fll leave orders -with Riley, if he doesn’t go, 
how to engineer matters till we return. Mr. Cobb, you 
may go on with your work as understood. The water 
wheel will not be practical for drilling but a cheap power 
for other purposes, so go ahead. Let’s fix up a bit, Cad. 
Must not dress beyond our means of course but we sure 
look frowsy.” 

“Wild men from the burnt woods is how the papers will 
feature us, best we can do. Sweaters are our only ward¬ 
robe now. They are quick and cover a multitude of dirt,” 
returned Cad, suiting the action to the word. 

“What about dinner?” Old Milt woefully overburdened 
was yet fearing for dinner. 

‘Be back before that time, likely, that is if we succeed 
in booking you for a season’s run in opera,” answered Cad, 
tossing Jim a comb. “If we’re not back by that time, you 
may look for us in the morgue.” 

“Hey, fellers!” called Milt after them. “Anything in 
pertickler ye would have me do in the way o’ chores fer 
ye here to-day?” 

“Yes,” answered Cad, “manicure the dog’s nails and 
don’t forget to water the trout at noon.” 

Before Milt reached the clearing, he heard voices and 
hammering around the cabin. Already men were there 
at work. As he came upon the scene of activity with dog 
and adz, he was early accosted by Riley Henshaw: 

“Wonder what’s the matter with Snowdon this morning? 
He acted like a reg’lar demon. What’s he gone tear in’ 
off like this for?” 

“Dunno,” replied Milt affecting ignorance of the pur¬ 
pose. “Unless it’s to take that crazy Allen to some 
surgeon ’n’ have his head bored for the simples.” 


X 


WHEREIN JEAN PRACTICES ELUSION 

Macaroni Alley cuts down from Main Street into the 
slum section of Petrolia along the water front. Here in 
the palmy days of the oil industry the city had been 
started. But since the river was prone to overflow its 
banks and flood the flats, the newer and better Petrolia had 
been founded on more elevated ground and the old locality 
was left to the poorer element, which now consisted largely 
of foreigners. Here, as in their native cities, the poor lived 
mainly in the streets. Between the narrow sidewalks stands 
laden with fish and oils, fruit and nuts from distant coun¬ 
tries were tended by dark-skinned men and women gaudily 
dressed and decked with showy jewelry, suggestive of a 
midway at a fair. 

Jean could pass through Macaroni Alley and come out 
upon King Street not far from her boarding place with 
slight chances of meeting any one who had witnessed the 
involuntary show at the Arlington. So down she plunged 
somewhat surprised to find it some sort of holiday with 
the populace and the place trimmed with tawdry bunting 
and all heyday. Grind-organs, accordians, tambourines, 
castanets, squawkers, whistles, wattles, bones, with jibber 
and song deafened her with their discordance. As she 
crowded through the groups they ceased their chatter and 
darkly frowned. Her manner and attire proved her alien, 
and provoked hostility. Perhaps a social worker. They 
were averse to being cleaned up. How they indulged in 
hoarse laughter which attracted attention from a knot 
of men who leered at her as she approached them. Mur¬ 
ders, robberies, abductions—all the horrible tragedies of 
which she had ever read or heard, now floated before her 
swimming vision. Retreat was cut off. 

“Mootcha fine Americano leddy,” said one unsteady 
brute advancing toward her. 

Before she could turn to flee she slipped on something 

93 


94: 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


that sent her sprawling at liis feet. Screams of laughter 
from the gathering crowd followed the act, but above their 
cries rose Jean’s scream. Her tormenters scattered and 
scurried for cover. A policeman’s whistle had answered 
her cry of distress. She lay there a crumpled heap when 
a moment later a large hand raised her to a sitting posture. 
Nearly fainting she looked up into a kindly face. 

“Are yez kilt, little girrul?” asked the great voice of 
big Mike Donovan, the man of terror for Macaroni Alley. 

“No; I think 1 was just stunned/’ she answered, feebly 
endeavoring to rise. 

He lifted her up and seated her on an empty box that 
stood on the side of the walk; then stepped back and con¬ 
fronted her. 

“Now tell me what the divil—plaze excuse my French 
—iver could bring yez into this place and alone?” 

She hesitated a moment before answering. “It was an 
accident. I am here by mistake,” she faltered and her 
lips began to tremble as she touched her eyes wdth her 
handkerchief. 

“Now, don’t cry, little girrul, don’t jcry,” he said as if 
regretting his brusk question. “Accidents will happen 
even to the cats an’ they’re the carefulest av animals.” 
Then, noticing the faint smile at his homily, “It’s a sayin’ 
in the owld county, they’ll go to Hong Kong for fish an’ 
niver wet their paws. Well, where does yez b’long? Or 
where does yez want to go?” 

“King Street,” she replied rising. “But I am afraid 
to go on alone.” 

“Well, I’ll walk back there wid yez,” and he gave her 
his arm. 

“Niver yez coome in here again, me little girrul. Oi 
take me loife in me hands, Oi know sometimes when Oi 
walk this alley. There are good paple here as ev’ry where 
else but more bad wans. Well, here yez air at King Street 
an’ now good-boi an’ sthay yez iver after this out of here.” 

He turned again after her many thanks 'to call back, 
“If iver yez git in a pinch, little girrul, jist hurry a call 
foor MIoike Donovan.” And he stood and watched her till 
she entered the little suburban store across the street. 


JEAN PRACTICES ELUSION 


95 


“If that don’t bate the Dutch, an’ they do bate the divil! 
Whatever took that swate little girrul into the loikes o’ 
that place alone. She’s oiyes loike th’ dew-kissed voiolets 
an’ cheeks loike the Killarney roses an’ hair that on’y the 
fairies could give it that tooch av gold. An’ here Moike 
Donovan isn’t married vit aither.” 

In the store, Jean purchased a pair of colored glasses 
and a box of white face powder. With the large spectacles 
hiding her eyes and shadowing her face as much as possible 
with her hat she hurried out again and along the street. A 
short distance east brought her to a small neat cottage 
with a tiny lawn and a rear garden. When she had 
gained the door and closed it after her, she fairly flew 
up the stairs to her little room. 

But Jean was far from friendless in the city. From 
below at this moment came a crooning voice, “Jean, Jean 
lassie, will ye nae coom tae yeer deener till it’s owre cauld? 
Coom doon, noo, lassie. A’m waitin’ masel’ tae eat wi’ 
ye.” 

No answer came from above, for tilings were happening 
in lively fashion in Jean MacCrea’s room. Presently the 
possessor of the voice, the motherly Mrs. MacIntyre, came 
to the bottom of the stairs and called again. 

“Jean, lassie, will ye nae coom doon? The clock is 
chapin th’ half oor avant one. Are ye seek that ye dinna 
answer me, chiel?” 

“Coming right now, Mrs. MacIntyre,” came the answer, 
a moment later followed by Jean. 

Not with her usual light trip-step did she descend the 
stairs, but slowly as if a burden were bearing heavily 
upon her shoulders. Up went Mrs. MacIntyre’s hands, 
her eyes to the ceiling, at the sight of the unbelievable 
costume in which the lass had decked herself: “Oonder 
God, Jean MacCrea, what’s bent yeer heid this day tae 
beeoom a gypsy?” Then her hands fell and her eyes 
in perplexity sought the girl’s face. “It passes me that 
wi’ a’ the grace ye’ve had before that at this oor ye’d tak’ 
th’ notion tae gae abroad in a gear that wad stamp ye a 
dowdy fair. Ye’er nae past a mither’s care yit an’ wad tae 
God ye haad a mither. Ye’ll nae hear tae me Pm fearin’. 


96 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


Can ye eat i’ that yoke? Will ye nae coom tae the table 
before ye gae oot agin for th’ burlesque ?” 

Here was a case that tested Auntie MacIntyre’s phil¬ 
osophy. In a confidential talk with her one day, Jean 
had imparted the intelligence that unless young Snowdon 
ceased his annoying attentions, she would be driven to quit 
his employ. Auntie had suggested that plainer dress might 
cool his warm affection. She had said that it was ever 
thus with men: “Fine feathers make fine birds.” Jean 
felt that it simply would be hopeless to attempt to explain 
the purpose of the garb in which she was now faring forth. 
The escapade at the Arlington would never be countenanced 
by the dignified M’rs. MacIntyre. The old lady’s radical 
sense of propriety, she was the personification of modesty 
and circumspection, would receive such a jolt that Jean 
was positive it would mean the parting of the ways. Mrs. 
MacIntyre’s roof would never cover scandal. Now the 
guise she had assumed was simply the fashion of several 
years ago. The frock had been resurrected from the 
depths of her wardrobe where by chance it had escaped the 
charity collections. From an old hat she had snipped all 
the trimming save black ribbon and braid. 

“Yeer hat, Jean, is maist like th’ ones I’ve seen in th’ 
queer peectures o’ Mither Goose,” said Mrs. MacIntyre in 
despair. 

“I’ve had dinner, Auntie,” Jean found voice at length 
to answer. “I should have told you that when I came in. 
I’m sorry for my thoughtlessness. YPu, you don’t think, 
then, Mr. Snowdon will worship me in this outfit?” she 
added mischievously. 

“If ye’ve set oot, Jean, tae blast his love, ye’ll succeed 
ayant my maist amazed expectations, maark my words.” 

“Well, good-bye, Auntie MacIntyre. I’ll be back to tea 
early if I can.” 

“A’m doubtful, Jean, if ye coom hame th’ nicht. Wi’ 
that deathly color in yeer face, th’ ord’nance is maist cer¬ 
tain tae tak’ ye oop an’ awa’ tae th’ hospeetal. Nae corpse 
can be mair ghaist like. An’ th’ goggles tae th’ outfit! 
Jean, gin ye waur dressin’ tae turn his affeections, A’ see 
nae reason for yeer makin’ it oop lak’ th’ Witch o’ Eendor,” 


JEAN PRACTICES ELUSION 


97 


were the parting words of prim Mrs. MacIntyre as she 
turned to clear the dinner away, worry and dismay writ¬ 
ten! in every line of her features. 

Jean was late. Punctuality had always been a creed 
with her. On the rare occasions when she had been tardy 
she had been met with a frown from the older man counter¬ 
acted by a tolerant smile from the younger. To-day would 
tax valiant youth for a smirk. Short of breath, she was 
hurrying to the office of Snowdon and Son, goggles and 
Mother Goose hat defeating any admiring searchers for 
Miss Clover bloom. No gaping on the streets in cities at 
back numbers. No one noticed her she felt quite sure. 
When she entered the office Snowdon, Sr. looked up from a 
letter he was reading and his lower jaw sagged. The 
junior member of the firm regarded her as if she were 
of as small importance as a fly on the wall, then pulled 
out his watch very concernedly. “I wonder what keeps 
Jean.” After she had marched across the floor between 
them, removed her hat and glasses and changed her 
seat and table to face the window, she looked back. They 
were both standing. The municipal head of Petrolia looked 
cheap. The son, so* to speak, was disappointedly glancing 
into a casket that held the remains of Jean MacCrea. 
Mrs. MacIntyre’s nostrum was proving an efficacious 
remedy though that estimable lady could never have ad¬ 
ministered it herself. 

“Ready for dictation and waiting,” said Jean, taking her 
seat. 

Snowdon, Sr. sank into his chair and poured out a letter 
to her fast and furious. Jean expertly caught his chopping 
words. He would be slow to discharge her for her acumen 
often eclipsed his own in matters clerical. 

Business was bustling now. Men interested in the for¬ 
mation of a proposed corporation were gathering around 
the senior member’s table. Young John took a seat close 
to Jean. She did not look up, just kept her pencil ready. 
He had difficulty in clearing his throat before beginning. 
A pin now dropped to the floor, loosing a coil of her 
hair. 

“Jean, what hair! It’s shine is like the silk of Persia!” 


P8 


THE BARON OF THE BARREN'S 


“Em sorry/' she said in a tone of mock regret. “I would 
rather it shone like hair.” 

He nipped his lip at the mild sarcasm. Plainly John 
Jr. was again on the rack. He now believed that Jean 
had thus arrayed herself for his benefit solely to hurt his 
feelings. Flushes of anger and of love alternated. With 
all his reputed wealth and his position he would twist 
her around his finger in time. The masquerade might 
be only to test his love. 

“Waiting/'—nervously tapping with her pencil. 

“Jean, why this hellish outfit this afternoon?*’ he asked 
uncertainly. 

“I had rather not discuss tactics of dress at this time. 
Waiting/'* 

Now the telephone bell rang. As he answered, she 
caught his half of the conversation. 

“Yes”—“Is tliis you, Mother?”—“Father is busy”— 
“You know he doesn't take much stock in Rube shows 
though”—“At the Arlington?”—“Miss Cloverbloom?”— 
“Haven't noticed the boards closely enough to give the 
name—think it/s ‘How Fuller Done the Town’ ”—“The 
Stuyvesant-Fisk-Parkins bunch is going?"—“All right. 
I'll coax Father"—“Well, perhaps I may go but not with 
that old hen—exclusive partv I mean"—“All right. Good¬ 
bye.” 

Wlien he had resumed his seat she had turned her 
back. He wondered at the change. What had changed 
her so abruptly? True, she had repulsed all his advances, 
but this sudden cold indifference was beyond his ken. 
Even in the outlandish garments she was beautiful. Not 
beauty of face alone did she possess but that more danger¬ 
ous marvel of a faultless body, which held him breathless 
and compelled him to stare and to covet. Yet Jean Mac- 
Crea was filled with a resentment toward life, for beauty 
seemed only an asset to draw bids in an open market. 
She wondered sometimes if it were true of all men, this 
beauty lust. The answer was no. For there was Jim 
Snowdon. But they were only friends. 

John, Jr. studied her covertly, insanely persistent, and 
grasped at an idea: “Jean, would you not like to attend 


JEAN PRACTICES ELUSION 


99 


the play to-night at the Bijou? It promises to be better 
than ordinary?” 

When the question was propounded, she was gazing at 
the far-off hills and wondering if they might not be the 
hills where Jim was living; and a longing came to her 
troubled mind for a quiet peace in the wilderness. Iiow 
beautiful was the soft blue haze hanging over that land 
which seemed so far away and she wondered if it were 
the time of the gathering of the fruit when. October holds 
in her bountiful hands the last of the harvest treasure. 

She had heard his question but it bore such a sting that 
she did not answer. He repeated it presently. 

“Yes,” she answered in a mechanical voice. 

He was wild. “I will come around promptly with the 
car at seven-thirty; a little joy ride and then the show, 
girly!” 

“I did not tell you I was going,” came the cold voice 
again. 

“But won’t you go, Jean?” 

“And sit where your mother and sisters can see us?” 

“Y-y-yes,” he faltered. 

“That was a time when a ‘yes’ meant ‘no,’ Mr. Snow¬ 
don.” But before she could say more, there was a hub-bub 
around the head table and a general rising. 

“Waiting,” she said again to waken him to duty. 

To John, Jr., “waiting” was the most abominable of 
w'ords. There was something indefinitely elusory about 
the girl and it is that elusiveness, that uncertainty, that 
drives men to pursue. He sat twisting an expensive dia¬ 
mond that glinted on a finger of his left hand and medi¬ 
tated a moment before starting work again. He could bide 
his time. 

The afternoon wore away with the usual routine of 
office work. If Jean had a moment of leisure, her eyes 
switched to the hills. If trouble came, would Jim come 
to the rescue as old Milt had promised, or would she be 
left alone? As the end of the round of grill and grind 
approached the evening paper came in. John, Jr. scanned 
it first. 

“Quite a notice of the play tonight,” he said, addressing 


> 


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> > > 


) 


100 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


the older man who was busy shuffling over papers for tiling, 
but indirectly addressing Jean. “Seems that some of 
the troupe advertised at the Arlington at dinner and made 
a big hit.” 

“What did you say the name of the thing is?” asked 
his father, annoyed at the thought that he was to be carried 
that night to a cheap play and bored for a couple of hours. 

“ ‘How Uncle Fuller Done the Town/ ” was the response. 

“Likely the gang will come in from Weatherbytown 
on a load of hay,” snarled the elder. 

At this point in the dialogue Jean, the gayety star for 
whose performance that day he was to be dragged to the 
play, passed her employer with the coldness of an iceberg 
and handed him a note. He watched her till she had 
closed the door behind her. 

“Are you in any way responsible, John, for that girl’s 
behavior this afternoon? She’s been on my nerves ever 
since she returned from dinner. Has got the notion some 
way we’re running a zoo and togged up accordingly. I 
don’t like it.” 

“What has got into her is a mystery to me,” returned 
the crestfallen John, Jr. “I don’t know.” 

“0, maybe it’s thunder or spiders or mice,” bit off 
Snowdon, Sr. as he adjusted his glasses to see 'what the note 
disclosed. “By the gods that made us, boy, it’s notice 
of an indefinite vacation to take place at once!” And 
he threw the paper on the table with the impatience that 
characterized his movements at times of petty annoyance. 

“Well?” 

“Can’t allow it; can’t allow it. Not if we have to 
double her wages. Jean’s a jewel. Help like her’s is too 
rare to spare her. Well, if we are to watch Uncle Fuller 
cut a wide swath to-night with tree toads nested in his 
hair, we’d better close shop.” 


XI 


“how uncle fuller done the town” 

From the office of Snowdon and Son, Jean took her 
way down the stairs. She would hazard less chance of 
drawing curiosity that way than if she took the elevator. 
In the street she rubbed elbows with several speaking 
acquaintances, but to her knowledge none deigned the pre¬ 
maturely maiden lady even a glance. Once she had gained 
the avenue her first act was to hasten to a news-stand and 
purchase a copy of the Evening Breeze. Then she took 
a King Street car for the suburbs to read the dreaded an¬ 
nouncement in the seclusion of her room. On the car 
she was forced to crowd into a seat occupied by the plate- 
passer of her church who very evidently did not relish 
her company, for he turned to the window a face as long 
and dismal as a coffin. She reflected for the moment on 
how quickly a change of dress will bring on social ostracism 
by the snobbish. His finical relief when she rose to leave 
the car forced an unwilling smile. 

Mrs. MacIntyre met her at the door, her face very visibly 
set in a fixture of purpose. 

“Jean, lassie, A’m conveenced th’ cross that’s hangin’ 
aboon yeer heid is far mair grave than th’ mole yeer 
wearin’ on yeer neck or th’ pesterin’ of John Snowdon. 
A’ll nae be brushed aside till I hae th’ secreet frae yeer 
lips, gin it puts ye tae yeer bed. Go noo tae yeer room 
an’ tak’ a bath, then dress yersel’ aince mair in true 
United States an’ coom doon tae th’ best supper that’s 
in me tae prepare. At th’ table, ye’ll free yeer breest o’ 
th’ secreet. Gin it’s nae shameful dishonor, A’ll put th’ 
strangtli o’ me against it tae drive it awa’. A’m in deid 
earnest an’ dinna throw up yeer han’s noo; ATI hae it oot 
o’ ye this nicht. Ye’ll nae be better till ye’ve onloaded.” 


102 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


“0, Mrs. MacIntyre,” Jean threw up her hands in help¬ 
less surrender, “it’s nothing—hut—well-” 

“Hisht, noo! ATI wait yeer coomin’.” 

“I’m skating on very thin ice in Petrolia tonight but 
another crack may not let me through before I run away 
tomorrow, so Mrs. MacIntyre may have the chance to add 
the crack if she chooses,” mentally cogitated Jean as she 
flew up the stairs. “If it gets into the papers, how far 
will I have to travel to outdistance it! Tokio or Shanghai ? 
Heigho! No; it will be ‘back tae me ain conn trie’— 
Scotland.” And she drew a deep breath of relief at the 
thought of a haven far beyond the sea. 

She was growing braver now as time elapsed and calmly 
she opened the paper after she had flounced into the em¬ 
brace of the big armchair, upholstered by Mother Mac¬ 
Intyre, and read: 

“What promises to be one of the finest attractions 
of the season comes to the opera house to-night. At 
the Arlington, Miss Cloverbloom and Uncle Fuller, 
two stars of greatest magnitude that accompany the 
cast, dined to-day and captivated some of our best 
connoisseurs of dramatic talent. We predict a capac¬ 
ity house for the play, ‘How Uncle Fuller Done the 
Town. 5 Don’t miss it.” 

“I hope the thing will come up to standards,” mused 
Miss MacCrea. “We will be ready for the next town 
tomorrow, Uncle Fuller, I’m thinking, if the bill boards 
exaggerate. I’ve got to quit mourning and meet the 
situation as Jim would. Dear old Jim! Never crosses 
bridges till he comes to them. I’m a victim. I’ve done 
nothing wrong. Guess by the way my blood is beginning 
to rush, I’m harking back to clan. Chased and hounded 
as the MacGregors were, they were invincible. Always 
came back again. 

“ ‘While there’s spray on the heath and foam on the river, 
The name of MacGregor shall flourish forever.’ 

“Now, Auntie MacIntyre, I’m ready for your block and 



UNCLE FULLER DONE THE TOWN 103 


When she entered the room she saw that Mrs. Mac¬ 
Intyre had done her best in the way of refreshments 
before the fall to come, if fall it was to be. The small 
room was a side room of the cottage, the outer wall one 
vast window, set in a border of small square panes of 
vari-colored glass. On the sill a row of potted roses was 
a profusion of blooms. On the one-legged, claw-footed 
table, spread with snowy linen, the daintiest of china, deco¬ 
rated with tea-roses, held scones, her favorite delectation, 
little iced cakes and fresh peaches. As the hostess stepped 
into the kitchen for the tea urn Jean wondered how much 
she would be able to dispense with before the blow fell. 

Now Mrs. MacIntyre was a widow in comfortable cir¬ 
cumstances, providing she practiced reasonable frugality. 
Her “ain bairns” were four, all married and scattered 
a long time since, and she had taken Jean in really for 
companionship. She had come to love the modest lassie, 
but she maintained an austere code of morals; and Jean 
felt it hopeless to attempt to expect her to compromise 
with her tangle. 

“Noo, oot wf yeer woe an’ weTl baith eat wi’ mair 
peace o’ min’,” commanded the executioner before the 
beginning. 

If ever a story was finely told, Jean MacCrea told hers 
that way—heart and soul. First, she spoke of her friend¬ 
ship with Jim Snowdon as she had often spoken of it 
before. He had been a benefactor and his remembrance 
she held most dear. He was threatened. She must get 
word to him quickly in the hills. There had seemed no way 
to send the message except bv the grotesque messenger. 
When she came to old Milt’s order to the waiter, Mrs. 
MacIntyre, who sat looking dazed like an owl in the glare 
of the mid-day sun, interrupted for the first time: 

“Oonder God, whatever could ye be doin’ in there wi’ 
that meenagerie? Before A’ wad hae trailed in there wi’ 
that auld cracklin’, A’d a tramped a’ tlx’ way tae th’ hills 
wi’ th’ card mysel’. Weel, gae on wi’ it an’ tell hoo at 
last ye waur baith flung oot o’ there.” 

Jean smiled grimly at the foreshadowed verdict and 
resolutely proceeded. The old lady maintained a rigid 


104 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


silence through the remainder of the narrative, looking 
as if it were a story of the moon people. At the finish, 
she handed Jean her cup. 

“A dinna ken what tae spak. Eat, Jean MacCrea. 
Dinna let it ruin yeer appetite for the scones an’ pressed 
meat. A’ neever failed tae preach tae me ain bairns, coom 
deith but God spare me frae disgrace. What is this ? Ma 
heid is swimmin’ wi’ it. Will ye no rise an’ light the 
jet? A’ dare nae rise.” 

Jean rose and lit the jet. The bright light flooded 
her face and the shadows of her hair. 

“Hae some o’ the pine-apple jelly for th’ scones,” re¬ 
sumed Mrs. MacIntyre, helping her to a shell. “An’ eat 
hearty, Jean MacCrea. Noo, hoo can A’ sympathize? 
W|haur tae begin an’ what at, doos ma weets confound. 
But eat, Jean MacCrea, an’ brace for th’ morrow. Ye’ll 
hardly dare gae oot tae face th’ feenger eends.” 

“Please remember, Mrs. MacIntyre, that I liav’n’t 
poured out my woes to you of my own volition. I ask no 
sympathy, perhaps deserve none. I am managing very 
well. I have only one regret. I wanted to see Jim before 
I go.” Though her voice was trembling she was far from 
breaking down. Then, as Mrs. MacIntyre did not express 
further opinion, she added: “If you wish, Mrs. Mac¬ 
Intyre, I will find another lodging place in the morning 
to save ‘finger ends’ from poking at your house. There is 
a hope and a chance, however, of my identity’s not being 
discovered if I mask till the thing blows over. Couldn’t 
I just give it a trial?” 

Mrs. MacIntyre was buttering a scone and trying to 
collect her senses. “Ye’ll nae quit ma hoose, chiel, but 
A’m free tae admit ye’ve behaved like a deevil wi’oot 
smeerchin yeer chareecter. A’ll nae be knockin’ ye for 
what A’ dinna oonderstand mysel’: what kind o’ a prank 
ye cut tae oopset me but ye’ve nae mither an’, Jean, luk 
me fu’ in th’ face, noo—Mither MacIntyre A’ am forever 
tae th’ freendless. But A’d like ma Scotch raised tae 
defeend ye, lassie, for a deeferent performance than ye’ve 
juist telt me. We’re tae pick nae crow thegither ower 
this an’ yee’re nae tae leave me for’t an’ A’m tae guide 


UNCLE FULLEE DONE THE TOWN 105 


yeer feet in carefn’ ways frae th’ time tae coom. A’ lo’e 
ye, Jean, like ma veery ain, an’ A’ll stan’ by in what is 
richt. Dinna refuse ma cake, noo an’ the iced fruit. We’ll 
clear th’ table thegither, then ye’ll read tae me till yeer 
bed time an’ we’ll sleep as in th’ auld lang syne an’ throw 
cares tae th’ winds.” 

The next morning Jean went out again in the same style 
of dress that she had worn the previous afternoon but for 
the hat which her lingers had deftly remodeled to a more 
becoming shape. Her plan now was just to await de¬ 
velopments. Soon her attention was drawn to something 
out of the ordinary. At nearly every stop of the car, 
passengers, principally men, were sure to come aboard 
either with blackened eyes or faces dressed with patches. 
Occasionally, a woman would bear marks of an accident; 
one, in particular, had her wrist in splints and carried it 
in a sling. The general excited conversation of the 
traveling public was in reference to a riot that had taken 
place. Where—when—why ? The questions surged 
through Jean’s mind. When she alighted at her destina¬ 
tion above the usual din of trucks and drays rattling over 
the pavement, gongs of street cars and honks of autos, 
came the cries of newsboys: “Morning Sun. Tells all 
about the riot at the show last night.” Feverishly she 
availed herself of a paper and a glance at the headlines 
confirmed her suspicion. The entire first page was devoted 
to the news of the affray: “Great Riot at the Petrolia 
Opera House. All Hell’s Horned Cattle Break Loose. 
Several Severely Injured. Many Bearing Ugly Cuts and 
Bruises as the Result of ‘How Uncle Fuller Done the 
Town’.” 

This shocking intelligence set her heart thumping like 
a drum. What might lie in wait for her when she reached 
the office? An instinct warned her to flee. As she stood 
undecided, a man brushing past her remarked to his pal 
that ten had been arrested already. Somehow, someway, 
it was then that the image of Jim Snowdon rose vividly 
before her. Was he near? She could almost feel his 
presence. He would appear in time of trouble; of this 
she felt assured. She had seen him in very trying cir- 



106 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


cumstances and at such times he appeared his coolest, 
seeming almost to have a superhuman control of himself. 
Right now he would say: “Go on, Jean, see it to a 
finish.” The thought renewed her strength and restored 
her faltering courage, somewhat. She decided to go on. 

When he entered the office, she found Snowdon and 
Son already there. The older man looked somewhat 
touseled in appearance and dress—something entirely new 
for him. But John, Jr.! Around one eye was a highly 
colored purple circle, a patch on one cheek covered a cut, 
his upper lip was badly swollen, and one front tooth had 
disappeared since the night before. He had been slugged. 
She paused at the table where the elder Snowdon was 
sitting, pawing over papers and snarling at every one 
around him like the proverbial old bear with the sore head. 
“Is my resignation accepted, MU Snowdon?” 

“Not yet, Miss MacCrea. Can you not content yourself 
till noon; then perhaps we may be able to arrange for 
your retention with infinite satisfaction to all. I am 
deluged this morning with rental papers.” 

And as one born to subordinate, he waved her toward 
her place of work. Seating herself, she perused the paper 
with sickening heart. 

What was undoubtedly the worst company that 
ever desecrated the opera house, visited Petrolia last 
night and finished up with a holocaust. The bouse 
was packed to suffocation—every available seat and 
inch of standing room were early taken. When the 
curtain went up, a farm-yard scene was represented. 
The scenery looked like the amateurish daub of a 
school boy. Uncle Fuller, a tall, waspish prototype of 
the most lamentable order of the clod-hopper, ap¬ 
peared chasing sunshine with a bush to sprout an 
onion bed. Miss Cloverbloom, the vaunted star, large 
and ample, sat on a fence, presumably watching a tur¬ 
key. She started in on her lines with a voice like a 
Holstein but broke down—the fence. This play had 
crossed two states to make this stand and how it hap¬ 
pened they were here—ask the agent who booked it. 



UNCLE FULLER DONE THE TOWN 107 


The boxes started to empty first not five minutes after 
the curtain had gone up. Then the house rose in one 
tumultuous burst. Some drunks made a start for the 
stage to pluck the performers. In the aisles, the 
rougher element began crowding, pushing, cursing and 
jeering. Like ‘Tim Finnegan’s Wake’ soon the ruc¬ 
tion did begin; ? twas ‘woman to woman and man to 
man/ With screams and agonizing cries they were 
soon tramping, struggling, hip and thigh, tooth and 
nail, in a stampede for the doors. It was fully an hour 
before the house was cleared but the battle was carried 
to the street and not before the Fire Department was 
called out and turned the hose on the frenzied mass 
did the horrible uproar end. Very luckily, no one was 
killed as far as ascertained before going to press, but 
many were seriously impaired. Among the number 
severely injured was Mrs. Peter Stuyvesant-Fisk, 
hurt after she had gained the street and taken to the 
hospital. 

What became of the barn-yard talent is shrouded in 
mystery. They suddenly faded like the moon behind 
a scurrying cloud. 

Now, then: Who are the pair that posed as Mjiss 
Cloverbloom and Uncle Fuller at the Arlington, yes¬ 
terday? Are they connected with the play at all? 
We say no. The Uncle Fuller of Arlington notoriety 
ascended in an airplane for a ride, yesterday afternoon, 
with two of our most estimable city boys and request¬ 
ed them to land him on Sam Hill east of town as 
they did. Uncle Fuller started botanizing while they 
waited. When he failed to return in reasonable time, 
they started a search and kept it up till dark; then 
returned to town and reported a lost man. Who and 
where is the girl that accompanied the old charlatan ? 

Now, fair Petrolia, the celebrated question comes 
home to you, “Who struck Billv Patterson ? 

Rut Jean could read no farther. Her face as bloodless 
as a statue, her hands clutched together, she lifted her 
troubled eves again to the hills far beyond an excited city 


108 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


sufficiently incensed to burn the culprit at the stake. The 
meshes of the net seemed tightening and narrowing around 
her. How long would her overstrung nerves endure before 
they snapped ? Already a sickening feeling was creeping 
over her. If exposure overtook her, the public would 
never be made to see the occurrence in its true light. 
Behind her sat two victims of last night’s farce. John, 
Jr., battered and swollen, paled in comparison beside 
Petrolia’s octupus, whose unassailable dignity had suffered 
gross indignities, though he came through the carnage 
without blemish. Dragged to the house of mirth, figur¬ 
atively, reluctantly submitting so that his domestic felicity 
might not suffer a rupture, then dragged out, literally, 
his highness in his outraged pride was now chopping off 
heads right and left. 

Already she might be under surveillance, she felt. Yet 
John, Jr.’s smile had seemed to smack of the genuine when 
he greeted her. Oh, those peaceful, blue hills lying far be¬ 
yond her reach, their summits clothed in enchantment. 
“Could I ever walk there?”—her lips were moving, and, 
strangely enough, came the prayer, “ H will lift up mine 
eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my help.’ ” 

“You have a ’phone call. Miss MacCrea,” interrupted 
the older man at this juncture. 

“Some guardian angel must have hovered over you 
and kept you from attending pandemonium last night,” 
said John, Jr. almost gladly as she falteringly passed him 
on the way to the ’phone. No note of sarcasm was in his 
voice, and this was reassuring. They did not suspect her. 

“From a shambles one would think it was, judging by 
your lumped head,” snarled the elder. 

Jean’s hand shook when she lifted the receiver to her 
ear. Was the skeleton in the closet about to begin to 
rattle ? 

“You’re sick, Jean,” said her employer softening. “Be 
seated while you use the ’phone.” 

She sank limply down. “Hello!” 

“Hello, Jean, is this you?” 0, wonderful, wonderful 
voice! 

“Yes.” 


UNCLE FULLER DONE THE TOWN 109 


"Do you recognize the voice, the man from Burnbrae, 
from the land of the heather-bloom, Jean?” 

“Yes,” she replied guardedly and he caught the tremor 
in her voice. 

“This is the way it is to be. Get off as early as possible. 
When you get home, call 180-M', undertand me?” 

“Yes.” 

“I will get your residence then and come. Understand?” 

“Yes ” 

“Good-b}m.” 

“Good-bye.” 

Jim Snowdon was in town. He had come from the 
hills in answer to prayer. Jean did not find it difficult 
to rise this time. Up and back to her chair she fairly 
flew, her face radiant with supreme joy. The instan¬ 
taneous change did not fail to catch John, Jr.’s eye and 
much perplexed him, but his mind was not resourceful 
enough to divine the cause. No longer was she like the 
hunted doe listening to the bay of the hounds as they drew 
in from every side, for before her now was the protecting 
voice and arm of Jim. 

What a jo}'Ous morning, contrary to expectation, she 
now found herself passing. It was difficult to comprehend 
the sudden, happy change that had timely arriven. 

She worked with a dash and vigor that astonished her 
employers that forenoon. And when at 11.30 she was 
granted permission to go, she fairly flew, unmindful of 
the indefinite leave of absence that she had sought. 

“Unfathomable little witch!” barked Snowdon, Sr. when 
she had closed the door behind her. 

“Most beautiful girl in Petrolia!” 

“I see, sir, of late if you chance to pass a calico rag 
hung out on a clothesline, you are enamored,” snapped 
the older man concernedly. “There is Miss Lillian Stuy- 
vesant-Fisk worthy of quest. Why do you not seek the 
company of your equals?” 

“There is Miss Lillian Stuyvesant-Fisk as soulless and 
bloodless as a gargoyl but for paint,” returned the younger 
with pronounced antipathy for the acceptable in question. 


XII 


WHEREIN CADMUS TAKES A PEEP INTO THE FUTURE 

“Mr. Doolittle ?” 

“Yes, what’s wanted. ‘0, for a lodge in some vast 
wilderness/ 0, for one unobtrusive moment to read a 
newspaper undisturbed. Just struck a seat first time 
since I started in this morning and I’ve wrought all day. 
Up all night, too, after that show, nursing Uncle Fuller’s 
legacy. Feel as though I’d been run through a hemp mill. 
(Well, what is it, my love?” 

Mrs. Doolittle flushed a trifle at the gruff answer to 
her call. Mr. Doolittle was ensconced in his private den, 
second floor over the cafe, and she was standing outside 
the door. Usually his time for going into seclusion was 
evening; not often seclusion proper, for this was his club- 
room, his smoker, where he fraternized with a few chosen 
cronies. But to betake himself there in the afternoon 
and leave behind him a threat to the porter that he would 
brick him if called, was portentous. A charming woman 
was Mrs. Doolittle, presiding over Petrolia’s most guilded 
hostelry and unaccustomed to such brusqueness from her 
lord. But then she had promised to honor and obey. 

The door opened slightly and Doolittle peered out. 

“What’s the matter?” he asked. 

“Matter enough when a big six-footer—looks like a 
Westerner—comes into the lobby and says if he can’t see 
you when you’re in he’ll rush the house with real Indian 
pleasure. Keeps laughing all the time, so guess he doesn’t 
mean to scalp you and carry me away.” 

“What does "he look like?” 

“That’s it. He’s as handsome as a bandit or the clerk 
would have called a police. Has a town boy with him 
that I’ve seen in here frequently for meals so I think you 
are in no danger of being kidnapped. Well, what shall I 
say?” 

110 


CADMUS PEEPS INTO THE FUTURE 111 


MT. Doolittle was uneasy. This was why he had with¬ 
drawn into his shell. He would have to shoulder much 
of the blame for the catastrophe at the Bijou. Not a few 
had been in already demanding explanations. He had got 
himself into an abominable predicament by presuming 
that he was entertaining theatrical stars. Now Petrolia 
was nursing grudges while the stars had faded. 

“Shall 1 tell him to go on and tear down the house 
and throw it out of the windows? That you are hibernating 
or something as reasonable ?” 

Her spouse rallied. “Send on your iron-toothed blood¬ 
sucking limb-teariiT man-eat-in’, house-cleanin’ tornado 
from the West.” Then he added by way of precautionary 
measures, “Better send the porter with him to take care 
of the remains”—and to himself, “Got to face the music. 
May as well offer myself up to this one for a- starter.” 

Burgundy and Havannas might have the effect of sooth¬ 
ing the savage. These with a silver decanter and glasses, 
he brought from a buffet and placed on the marble-topped 
table where they would be likely to catch the eye upon 
first entrance. Easy chairs, half lounges, upholstered with 
the finest of Spanish leather banished weariness upon sight. 
If entertainment would assuage a tempest, here were the 
emollients. Doolittle assumed it was a “sorehead” ap¬ 
proaching, a survivor of the battle who was seeking to 
chastise him unless he could prove that he himself had 
been duped. 

Merry voices and a laugh that would have caused smiles 
to flicker over the face of a statue rang through the hall 
and partially dispelled the fears of Doolittle. He stood 
in the door waiting. As they came up, two of them, Doo¬ 
little gave a shout of surprise and grasped Jim Snowdon’s 
hand. 

“Well, Jim, old top, how art thou?” he chuckled draw¬ 
ing him into the room and leading him to a seat. “Great 
Scot—yes, great Scot, that’s what you are, Jim—my wife 
had me barricading up here a moment ago against a 
western tornado. When did you drop down? Let me 
see; you are located now up in the hills. Glad to see 
you back.” As he talked he took a seat facing Snowdon 


112 


THE BAEON OF THE BARRENS 


but not before he had seated his companion, who proved 
to be a reporter for the Morning Sun. Fred Pinks was the 
young man, a boon companion of Jim’s before Jim had 
left five years before for the West. 

“I came from Tulsa, Oklahoma, several weeks ago, 
Ben,” replied Jim suavely as he settled into the great rest¬ 
ful chair, easily fitting himself to things luxurious, prov¬ 
ing there had been a time when he was accustomed to 
comforts. “I have ambitions, Ben, but like Caesar’s per¬ 
haps they may kill me yet. I am endeavoring to sprout 
an oil field in those old gaunt hills of mine, a bit of the 
earth’s surface that nobody seemed to want to own until 
it was foisted on me through the chicanery of a relative. 
Now the gold of King Mdas could not buy it. No, no 
wine thank you, Ben, to set my head spinning.” 

“Just one glass, Jim, for old acquaintance sake,” en¬ 
treated Doolittle. “One glass will only lubricate your 
tongue.” 

“And there would be nothing but tongue with an addled 
brain behind it.” 

“When did you come down from the hills, Jim?” in¬ 
quired Doolittle a trifle ill at ease, the more so because 
of the presence of a reporter. 

“This morning.” 

The answer quieted his fears. “Lucky, for if you had 
been in Petrolia last night, today you might”—here he 
paused and regarded Jame’s fine physique. 

“Might need an obituary written for me?” 

“Might be accountable for corpses, I was going to say, 
remembering your punch. Look at my face. Suppose you 
heard all about the wild west we had here in Petrolia 
last night.” 

“Yes. It seems to be the most popular theme of the 
town for the hour, though I noticed toward noon the 
angry mood of the crowds that was manifest all morning 
was giving way somewhat and the people are coming more 
and more to regard the affair in the light of a huge joke. 
The boys are comparing wounds and disputing the honors 
for bravery. Isn’t that true, Fred?” 

“Yes, time heals all wounds but those of love,” was the 


CADMUS PEEPS INTO THE FUTURE 113 

H S' * Li g i 

response of the reporter, who was busy with a very small 
pad and pencil, quite out of sight and unobserved by Doo¬ 
little. 

“I hope it will cool down,” said Doolittle ruefully. 
a You know they blame me, Jim, for the whole cussed 
thing.” 

Snowdon could laugh heartily and jovially. For him to 
indulge just then was not in good taste considering Doo¬ 
little; but he lacked all regard now for the man and gave 
way to one wild, loud roar. Pinks joined him and Doo¬ 
little labored to force a smile, but found it hard work. 

‘TPs not such a sight of fun, Jim, after all, when you 
are threatened and hunted by the whole town, and carry¬ 
ing a broken head into the bargain. I thought I was killed 
several times before I got out. 0, it was just a shambles 
and the wonder is how any one got out alive.” 

“Why does the populace pick you for the goat ?”—though 
Jim knew well enough. 

“Have you heard about that pair, that old man and 
girl, who were in here for dinner yesterday, Jim?” 

" “Yes.” 

“Eight there is something that would puzzle all the 
oracles of Delphi. I was certain when the old man reeled 
off that speel to the waiter they belonged with that show. 
But they were not the Uncle Fuller and Miss Cloverbloom 
that appeared with the cast. Well, you’ve heard, Jim, 
how I connected them with the play?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, who are they, then, if not traveling with that 
concern ?” 

“Did you ever see the girl before?” 

“No, nor the old man that I remember.” 

“You just lined them up with the troop on supposition?” 

“Yes.” 

“They were in no wise to hlame for the hoax ?” 

“No.” 

“Think if you would have the whole story come out in 
its true light with apologies for the blunder on your part 
and a confession that you have no idea who the parties 
were you falsely exploited—have Fred here write a ‘re- 


114 


THE* BARON OF THE BARRENS 


portorial’ in his usual artistic manner for the Sun —the 
nasty affair would soon lose its sting and live only as a 
celebrated joke. What think you, Doolittle?” asked 
Jim, earnestly seeking to pour oil on the troubled w'aters 
for all concerned. To get Doolittle’s apology into print 
would better Jean’s evading detection, providing she did 
not again wear the costume in which she had appeared 
at the Arlington. 

“Do you hear that, Fred?” cried the elated Doolittle, 
springing up and grasping Snowdon’s hand. “I say, do 
you hear that? Jim, you were noted for your adept ways 
of handling ticklish situations before you left Petrolia, 
and here you appear again, cleaning up this mess that 
an unruly imagination got me into. Fred, you’ll write 
it according to specifications and I believe it will have a 
decided tendency to soothe the injured public. What about 
it?” 

“That’s what I came for,” smiled the reporter, who 
had been busy from the beginning taking notes. “I’ll 
embellish it my best, Doolittle; make you out a regular 
fancy liar, see? Plenty of frills in a flick like this sets 
the world laughing. Those who still keep sore, keep 
quiet. And that’s the purpose.” 

“Jim Snowdon, vour invitation to free meals at the 
Arlington stands as long as the house stands,” cried Doo¬ 
little. 

“Hold, I’ve not finished my mission yet, Ben,” said 
Jim rising and for the first time looking troubled. “Now, 
we take up the lassie whom you salt-and-peppered. She 
is living in terror, Ben. She feels you made her respons¬ 
ible for the riot last night and wants to leave Petrolia. 
She is a working girl and really has no home. She will 
forfeit a good job if she leaves. Where will she go? She 
was in here at your place innocently taking a friend to 
dinner; your waiter insulted him and the old coon evened 
up. Then you capped the climax. Well, upon my advice 
she is going to remain in Petrolia and run the gauntlet. 
Now to remain, she must keep shaded and change her 
attire. Extra attire costs something for a working girl, 
eh? Catch the notion?” 


CADMUS PEEPS INTO THE FUTUEE 115 


Doolittle’s eves were fairly bulging from their sockets 
with surprise. “Who is the girl, Jim?” 

“Glad you don’t know. Hope you never may. It’s hard 
work to help hold a secret.” 

“Do you know, Fred?” 

“Positively, I do not.” 

Jim was slightly nettled. “Well, Mr. Doolittle, I think 
it is as little as you can do to stop prying and cough 
up enough to buy the girl a new outfit. You can thank 
your lucky stars you are not arrested for libel.” 

“My Lord, yes, Jim! How much do you want for a 
new toggery for the girl? Been thinking of that all 
along. For how much will I write the check?” And he 
brought a check-book out of his pocket. 

“I make no demands; take no checks. Donate something 
if you wish and hand it to Fred,” responded Jim, exer¬ 
cising caution to avoid further altercations. 

“Fred doesn’t know her,” corrected Doolittle with a 
touch of sarcasm. 

“Well, I do; but I don’t take money from you. The 
girl wouldn’t take a cent of it, either, if she knew 
how it came. I have to manage very carefully. If I 
didn’t think vou deserved a lickin’ I wouldn’t take it.” 

1/ _ ' 

Meanwhile Doolittle counted out bills—fifty dollars— 
and' handed the money to Fred Pinks. “Is that enough?” 
he asked. 

“Plenty, Mr. Doolittle. You have done beautifully,” 
said Jim, offering his hand. And he and the reporter 
were off. Doolittle ran after them calling, “Well, good-bye 
Jim; think it’ll all fair up when Fred’s flame comes out. 
Tell ’em I’m quarantined for broken leg, Beporter.” 

sfs Hs sk ^ sis 

James had met Jean that day at Mrs. MacIntyre’s and 
the meeting had been most tender. Strangely enough, with 
all Jean’s channs and beauty, he had only affection for 
her; when stronger emotion began to stir he had always 
made a struggle against it. He felt she needed a friend, 
not a lover, until the time arrived when she might choose 
free from thoughts of gratitude. He attempted no ad¬ 
vances in the way of love. When apart, Jean felt that she 


116 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


Joved her brawny champion, but whenever they met,. an 
awe of the man’s greatness and largeness of heart seized 
upon her and restraint held her captive. She trusted 
him with all her soul, and the unfaltering trust was so 
apparent that he ever kept her before him as the tearful, 
confiding lassie he had brought from Burnbrae. But to¬ 
day? 

To Mother MacIntyre, James was a knight-errant down 
from the hills to save the day. The moment her eyes be¬ 
held the Scotchman, quick to read character, she settled 
upon him her affections unalloyed, and together they 
became the Advisory Board to decide the question for Jean. 
It seemed best for the girl to remain in Petrolia, at her 
post for the present, or at least until better provisions 
could be made for her. The moment breakers threatened, 
there would be another session of the Board to determine 
a course of action. 

MacNaughton’s Emporium, the store of ladies’ ready 
made attire, was the best place to refit her quickly and 
there the Board decided to conduct Jean as soon as dinner 
was over. She protested at Jim’s proposal to pay the 
bills. 

“Why not?” asked Jim. “You drew notoriety by an 
unlucky attempt to warn me quickly of danger. Now we 
must exercise wariness to obscure you, and I alone should 
furnish finance. Get ready now, and I’ll whisk you to 
the store in my Nancy Hooter so swiftly no one wall notice 
you. Don’t you wish to accompany Jean, Mrs. Mac¬ 
Intyre ?” 

“Ye’re veery kind, Meester. A’ will. Euirst A’ll comb 
Jean’s wig United States an’ a noo hat will change ’er 
heid till nane can tell ’er. Rise, noo, Jean lassie, an’ we’ll 
mak’ haste. But yee’re tae toss them black glasses intae 
th’ reever as we spin ower th’ brig an’ defy them that 
gaze,” remonstrated Mother MacIntyre. 

“My heart is brimming over,” said Jean with one of her 
old-time happy smiles. “Don’t think I’ll drop back into 
fear and morbidness again, let come what may.” 

“That’s right. My telephone call is at Hardwick’s, 
Comfort. They will get me word. Speak your name 


CADMUS PEEPS INTO THE FUTURE 117 


to the man and I’ll be here on the wings of the wind; I’ll 
take you and Auntie to the hills for ransom/’ laughed Jim. 

“A’m nae worth it/’ laughed auntie, “Ye’ll bring me 
awa’ when I scold.” 

“Petrolia is a veery beautiful toon, Meester Snowdon,” 
remarked Mrs. MacIntyre, leaning forward to catch Jim’s 
ear as they rolled along. 

“And we’ll all be living here in marble fronts when I 
strike oil,” he returned. 

“Miss Cloverbloom centrally located in the elite row,” 
lent Jean in derision. 

At their destination, Jim waited outside in the car while 
Jean arranged her camouflage. In good time out she came 
again as from a chrysalis, costumed in a gray suit, 
trimmed with black, and a smart winged hat. 

“You’ve perfected the disguise. Your closest friend 
would scarcely recognize you,” said Jim in admiration 
as they stood on the curb beside the car. 

“A’ve this left a if ter the purchase, Jamie,” said Mrs. 
MacIntyre familarly as she handed him a bill. “She’s noo 
trigged aince mair tae set young Jock’s heart palpitatin’, 
A’m sure, lookin’ aince mair good auld United States.” 

“If he catches the news that I am the cause of his 
beauty marks, my pretty suit won’t appeal to his affections 
any longer,” added Jean, smoothing back teasing fluffs 
of hair that the wind blew around her face. 

Jim was tinkering at the steering gear of the car. The 
stroke of one from the old clock in the steeple of St. Cyr 
proclaimed that the noon hour of recess! for the toiler 
had ended. Jim ceased work on the loose machinery of 
Eiley’s rattle-wagon and took Jean’s hand. “Well, now I 
must say good-bye, little girl. I must not detain you 
longer to get you into ill repute with your employers. 
I will run Mrs. Mlaclntyre^ back home—” 

“Ye’ll run me back hame? Hoot mon ye’ll no run 
me back hame!” interrupted Mrs. MacIntyre with a touch 
of spirit. 

“Excuse me,” he laughed. “I’ll take Mrs. MacIntyre 
back home, then interview Doolittle. Look for a refuta¬ 
tion in the morning paper. Well, bye-bye, lassie. Don’t 


118 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


worry”—she was touching her eyes with her handkerchief 
—“better days are coming. I’ll be often back again” 

“Hist, noo,” broke in Mrs. MacIntyre. “Dinna be 
snifflin’ in courtship on the street. Gae, Jean, tae yaer 
wark. Yer baith young yit an’ can be marrit in yeer ain 
gude time”—and they waited for no more lest she plight 
them in betrothal irrevocably. 

* * * ' * Hs * 

When James and Cadmus rolled into Petrolia that morn¬ 
ing, Cadmus had decided that he looked too woodsy from 
long isolation to attempt to cultivate the acquaintance of 
fair lady. It was therefore agreed that he take in the 
sights of the city while James ascertained the status of 
Miss Cloverbloom. Cad was to report hourly at a desig¬ 
nated place where a. 'phone call would catch him in case 
his services were required. His first amusement were the 
varied tales of last night’s horror paramount on every 
tongue, related on curb and corner. Weary of this, he 
strolled till noon, had dinner and rested. No report 
coming in, he sauntered forth again and was strolling 
down Main Street when, right across the street from 
him, stood the camouflaged Miss Cloverbloom, James and 
Mother MacIntyre! Unobserved, he veered to the wall 
of a building and took a point of vantage from which he 
could secretly revel in the beauty of Petrolia’s enigma. 
Jean’s attractiveness made quick work of his heart. She 
did not possess the Madonna-like sweetness he had pictured 
but hers was a type undebatably lovely and her mischiev¬ 
ous gaiety rather matched his own. 

“Fine Romeo I make skulking here, sneaking a look 
at her,” he mentally soliloquized, for Cad was no mean 
reader of the muses. “Should she look my way, it would 
be ‘Romeo, avaunt,’ instead of ‘Romeo, where art thou?’ 
Wonder if there might be ever the shadow of a chance 
for me? With Jim singing and throwing fits over ‘Loch 
Lomon’, she might fall my way sometime. Support a 
wife? Well, if old Jim strikes oil, I am to come in on it.” 

It was at this point that a happy remembrance struck 
Cad. In his wanderings, he had read the sign over a 
door, “Mme. La Rooche, Scientific Astrologist. Reads 


CADMUS PEEPS INTO THE FUTURE 119 

Past, Present and Future.” Impulsively he started back 
for the place where he had read the sign. “Now we see 
who gets her, Jamie, thanks to the occult !” he breathed 
rejoicingly. 

He soon entered a hallway that led upstairs to offices 
and apartments. On the upper floor, the second door 
right bore the name of the fortune-teller. He knocked 
to avoid intrusion and the door was softly opened by a 
freckled-faced boy in blouse and knee pants who ushered 
him in and seated him in the waiting-room. 

“Yez’ll soon know whether yez are to be hung or shot 
for there’s only one ahead of yez,” asserted the youth 
and Cad knew his forebears were from Erin. 

“Well, I’ll never be drowned,” he returned, “for I swim 
the Atlantic Ocean every morning before breakfast.” 

“Ye’re some whale all right,” said the boy squinting an 
eye at him and handing him a magazine, a contribution 
he always made to the entertainment of those waiting. 

“That’s me,” laughed Cad, “and I’ve trout for company, 
wearing his speckles, I see.” 

“Ah, g’wan!” laughed the lad. “That’s the bell for yez 
if yez are in. Come this way.” 

Cadmus followed to the consultation room and met an 
old man on his way out, looking very happy over his fore¬ 
cast. 

Mme. La Rooche was seated behind a velvet-covered table 
whereon stood a globe with an owl perched on top, a fine 
piece of taxidermy. She was past middle age, rather' 
thin, and gaudily garbed in the manner of the ancient 
Egyptians. The silk turban, the large loops in her ears, 
the mystic figures on the loose flowing robes, brought up 
the court of the Pharaohs before Cadmus. At intervals 
over the black velvet tapestry hung on the walls of the 
room were spangled silvery planetary systems all attesting 
the great gift of Mine. La Rooche. 

Cad bowed respectfully and Madamoiselle pointed to a 
seat at the opposite side of the table. “You may tell 
me what year and on what day of wdiat month you were 
born,” she began. 

He gave the dates and added that he had been told 


120 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


it was during the worst thunder storm ever known to 
the oldest inhabitants. 

“This brings you under Venus,” she said puckering her 
mouth and drawing her brows of wisdom. “This planet 
was in conjunction with M'ars at the time of that midnight 
disturbance. You were born when the sign was wrong and 
you have given more or less kick ever since. Had you been 
born when the sign was in the head instead of the feet 
you would have spread over something less than an acre 
of ground. 

“You wouldn’t advise me then to garden?” he asked. 
He might as well get all the information possible for his 
money. 

“Never attempt it on anything smaller than a section of 
land. Your paths would have to be very wide. Youtf 
health is very good and you-” 

-“will never die unless I’m killed,” he interrupted, 

happy in the thought of a remarkable longevity. 

-“will take good care of it when there is work 

around, I was about to say,” she finished. “People who 
are born under the reign of the crab are apt to be 
crabbed. A r ou have wonderful lung compass and the 
gastric and dilating powers of the Anaconda.” 

“I used to travel with a box of snakes showing at the 
county fairs,” said Cad, seeking to encourage her. 

“A r ou are not easily upset,” she went on seemingly 
somewhat more in his favor. “A strong cyclone that 
would carry away a brick-yard or tip over a trans-conti¬ 
nental train would not turn you about unless it caught 
behind one of your ears.” 

“Do you think I have sufficient ear expansion to sail a 
yacht if I train to catch the wind?” 

“You will be married early,” she continued unmindful 
of his query, “but your wife will be very unhappy. She 
will be much happier during her second marriage.” 

“That’s to old Jim,”’ he fairly shouted. “I knew he’d 
get her at last.” 

“Not if you cross my palm with an extra silver dollar.” 

“I’ll wait to hear what kind of flowers they furnish 
me before I put more money into this.” 





CADMUS PEEPS INTO THE FUTURE 121 


“You will prosper better in business matters, in part¬ 
nerships with colored men,” she gloomily continued. “You 
have a constructive mind and you can construct hoodoo 
figures that will frighten them out of the business, fearing 
to remove a cent. 

“Mondays will be your best days on which to borrow 
money. Thursdays will be your best days for dodging pay¬ 
ment. 

“Look out for an old man with a jolly face and a 
growth of whiskers around it looking like a sheep-skin.” 

“That’s old Milt Cobb,” snickered Cadmus. 

“I see him clearly in the horoscope,” resumed the for¬ 
tune-teller. “Do not trust him in the dark on any account, 
for he is crafty. 

“You would succeed well as a dancer, but not as a poet. 
One would have to burn a rag while reading your verse. 

“There comes a time when you are prosperous. I see 
you smoking a good cigar and trying to buy a seat in the 
House of Representatives. But you fail in business before 
the deal is closed and fall back to your old trade, re¬ 
juvenating cuspidors and abstracting snipes.” 

“But do you discover anything off there that indicates 
that I will ever rise again in the financial scale ?” inquired 
Cadmus. 

“No, not clearly. But hold a moment. Your horoscope 
begins to grow clearer. Venus bisects the orbit of Miars 
and I see you relieved considerably in your monetary pros¬ 
tration. A large dark gentleman rises above the horizon 
and lends you quite a sum of money with the advice to flee 
the country.” 

“After the flight if there is anything left, would you 
advise me to visit some cool, quiet, restful, fashionable 
resort ?” 

“Yes.” 

“In winter time, would you advise me to try the Poles.” 

“No, nor yet hades in very warm weather.” 

“So you see for me an early marriage, with hurricanes 
along the Atlantic seaboard and much damage to shipping 
while blizzards are raging in the Northwest ?” 

“I do.” 


122 


THE BARON - OF THE BARRENS 


“Do you see no way to withstand the tying of this early 
nuptial knot?” 

“No; not unless you jilt the present centre of your 
warm affections and take up with some ugly, hooked-nosed 
virago who can support you. Courtship would not be so 
hasty on your part perhaps.” 

“Have you any marriagable sisters that fit the de¬ 
scription and whom I might succeed in winning to insure 
me a swifter death, Mademoiselle La Rooche?” 

She leaned forward and fastened a pair of yellow eyes 
on him like an enraged tigress. 

They were even then in the act of hasty rising, but the 
sibyl proved more fleet of foot in the effort to gain the 
door. With one bony claw Mademoiselle La Rooche clutch¬ 
ed his hair but he made the stairs, then the street in several 
wild bounds. 

After leaving the Arlington in company with the re¬ 
porter of the Morning Sun, Jim was just passing the 
entrance way to the rooms of Mme. La Rooche when im¬ 
agine his surprise and chagrin at having Allen burst out 
upon them, hatless and flurried, to be presented to Mr. 
Pinks, chief of the editorial staff of Petrolia’s most popu¬ 
lar and time-honored publication. 


XIII 


THE BALLET OE THE BIRDS AND MILTON 

Russet autumn had passed. The foliage of the hills 
had changed to naked woods. Winds, never weary, solemn¬ 
ly soughed through the tree-tops. Over head, clouds of 
crows circled and cawed in noisy council—laggards of the 
season. Flocks of wild geese in flight southward presaged 
a snow to follow in their wake. 

When one room of the cabin at Hermit Spring had 
been completed, the happy bachelors (as far as bachelors 
are happy) moved in. Time forbade further hous-e build¬ 
ing until spring, for there was the rig for the drilling 
well to be finished before the really cold weather began. 
Snug but convenient had been their aim. The fire-place 
of rough stone-work and cement half filled one end-wall 
of the room, and when the first fire was kindled, crackling 
and roaring up the great-throated chimney, Cadmus de¬ 
clared it “a thing of beauty and a joy forever.” Milt 
standing before it alternately turning to toast front and 
back had stated with bitterness, “The man that set up 
the first stove killed comfort deadeFn hay.” And James 
quoted, 


“ ‘There waVt no stoves till comfort died 
To roast ye to a puddin/ ” 

However, the small sheet-iron stove was retained near 
at hand for convenience as a means of cooking. A large 
window facing southward permitted a view of the broad 
valley below. Cad styled this their land of Canaan from 
which they were kept out for their sins, waiting for a 
Joshua to lead them in. Below the window, James had 
arranged a winter garden-box in which tea-roses and other 
varieties of flowers were now flourishing. At the ends of 

123 


124 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


the garden were pots of maiden-hair ferns. Evenings had 
been spent in smoothing the surface of the pine logs in the 
walls; then black walnut staining had been applied. Be¬ 
tween the logs, the cement work was calcimined with a 
white adhesive preparation and the ceiling done wholly in 
white. When finished, the interior of the cabin presented 
a unique but pleasing appearance, though Milt had de¬ 
scribed it as like the tomb of St. Luke’s Lazarus, were Jim 
out of it and only Cad left. Allen, devoid of respect for 
gray hair, impulsively responded that for Milt its peniten¬ 
tiary stripes would be very appropriate. But as Milt had 
once been held in durance vile for illegal fishing, the retort 
hit hard, too hard, and upon James was forced the un¬ 
pleasant duty of intervention. 

Just three articles of furniture had been purchased for 
the cabin-home: a kitchen cabinet, a white enameled bed¬ 
stead, and a wardrobe. The rest of the furnishings were 
to be supplied by their own handiwork. Already they 
had completed a table, the top made of hard maple, 
polished and varnished till it shone like a mirror. To 
cover and ornament the framework underneath the top, 
they had split in halves cuts of small hickory logs and 
fastened the pieces, round side out, to the frame with 
screws, beveling corner angles to fit perfectly. For legs, 
they had used cuts of large poles of uniform size of 
the same w T ood; and the hard, bark lace-work, rubbed 
smooth and coated with black varnish, made them pos¬ 
sessors of a table in style rare and strikingly their own. 
After the table came chairs. And now they were busy 
at work on two rustic rockers which were nearly finished. 
The backs and bottoms were woven mattings of willow 
branches which had been bunched and hung by the chimney 
till partly seasoned. Around the framework of the chairs, 
Cad had twined spiral coils of the woodbine, cut and 
untwisted from saplings where they wound. His artistic 
touches, proved him superior to James with his larger 
and more awkward hands; but James was quite willing to 
give him exclusive right of touches and kept whistling 
at the braggart’s badinage while he applied himself chiefly 
to the stabler and more essential parts. 


BALLET OF BIRDS AND MILTON 


125 


As things fashioned and grew at their hands, the greater 
grew their interest and delight in their surroundings. 
Not only were they living close to nature but in love and 
communion with her as she unfolded her secrets to them 
for the asking and bestowed her rich gifts for the taking. 
The hills and the woods were in their blood. 

“Here’s your chair of indolence completed, Baron. 
Come and try it,” said Cadmus, having put the finishing 
touches on the rocker designated from the start as belong¬ 
ing to James. Then did the proud artisan push back 
the chair from him and stand and gaze on the achieve¬ 
ment with an adoring wonder little short of that with 
which Mjichael Angelo surveyed his Madonna. 

It was a windy evening with prospect of a storm. Elec¬ 
tric lights glowed in the cabin. Below the pond, the tur¬ 
bine wheel, harnessed to a dynamo, furnished the energy, 
transferred by wires and transformed by incandescent 
lamps into heat and light that afforded the hermits a city 
luxury. Thus the wind without might rear and roar; 
with the fire on the hearth and the lights overhead, what 
cared they for the behavior of the elements. Snowdon sat 
by the table reading when the invitation came. He laid 
his paper down and rose to try the new seat of honor. 
Cushioned, too, it was for Cad had generously thrown in 
his coat. Flexible rounded back, flexible bottom and deep 
seat, rocking with a long even swing, the comfortable 
seat brought forth the exultation, 

“ Td not change it for a kingdom, 

No, not 1/ ” 

“0, King, live forever,” quoth Cad, bowing before him 
with all the grace and homage of a courtier. Then he 
seated himself on a box, for his own chair was not yet com¬ 
pleted, and their talk drifted into great expectations. 

“Hark!” said James looking up. “Rain.” 

“Yes, and a cold one. End with snow.” 

“No Milt tonight and no bread.” 

“Bake pancakes till he hoves in.” 

“Bad day tomorrow for rig-building if it snows.” 


126 


THE BARON OF THE BARKENS 


“‘Take no thought of the morrow' says the Good Book," 
cautioned Cadmus. “And, again, it says, ‘Sufficient unto 
the day is the evil thereof.’ If we can’t work we will hunt. 
You can fulfill Scripture for the day by being a Nimrod, 
a ‘mighty hunter before the Lord.’ So it reads, Snowdon.” 

“Yes, but you are too flippant with passages of Scripture 
to possess the spirit of them. Instead of your meeting 
Scripture requirements, I notice you twist passages to cover 
your tracks, which is the way of the hypocrite, I warn 
you, my sophisticated friend,” laughed Jim, really in 
earnest. 

“Why not sugar-coat your religion when it tastes of gall 
and wormwood? Why let the other fellow make for you 
a crown of thorns without objecting to the sharpness?” 

“I don’t think it would be possible to fit your head 
with a crown of any kind, Cad; so never worry.” 

“Insult me in your own house, will you, just because 
you are a bulwark of strength?” wailed Cadmus, throwing 
a log of wood onto the fire. “Or wad ye throw me oot 
intae the nicht and storm? Hoot, mon, but yeer cauld 
hearted!” he added as he resumed his seat. 

At the dialect, Jim exploded with laughter, “Yeer veery 
mixed in matters sacred, but ye’ll git back in yeer ain 
gud time a’ve nae doot. An’ A’ could nae live in th’ hills 
we’oot yeer fash, sae yeer safe th’ nicht.” 

“Hark!” said Cad. They listened. “Thought I heard a 
cough.” 

Lark, lying on the hearth, head to the fire, now sprang 
up and trotted to the door, standing there whining and 
vigorously wagging his tail. “Some one is coming—per¬ 
haps Milt.” Before Jim could reach the door in stepped 
old Milt with a bag on his back and laden with snow. 

“Give me a broom. Never seen sich a snow-storm in all 
my life. ’Tain’t been ten minutes sence it quit raining an’ 
turned ’n’ I’ll bet it’ll be knee deep in ten minutes more. 
What made me come? Out o’ bread ain’t ye? Then I 
knew if I waited till mornin’, couldn’t make it and be 
wuth a continental to work. Guess they’ll be little derrick 
buildin’ to-morrer if this keeps up. I lost my way once ‘n’ 
thought I’se ’lected to sleep in a ‘Babes in the Woods’ bed 


BALLET OF BIRDS AND MILTON 


127 


there one spell. ’ He was stamping and shaking and 
sweeping himself as James relieved him of his burden, the 
dog leaping up on him for joy at meeting an old friend. 
When his flow of talk had run down, Jim inquired if it 
wasn’t rather early for snow. 

“No ’tain’t. First falls of it ain’t apt to sojourn long, 
as Jerushv Henshaw would say.” 

“Lome over here to the fire,” said Cad as he stirred it to 
a leaping flame. “Dry yourself; then I’ll give you an elec¬ 
tric shock to keep you from taking cold.” 

“I’ll warrant ye’ve got plenty o’ traps set fer me, Allen. 
‘Tain’t never you, I’ve come to learn, if you ain’t runnin’ a 
string o’ tools to jar up somebody. Ye see Ibby crossed 
over the woods to stay all night with Jerushy Henshaw 
’n’ that granted me a leave o’ absence. Jerushy likes to 
have Ibby come over ’n’ tell her fortune with tea grounds. 
’Tain’t so apt to come true as ’tis to have it told by the 
stars I’ve heerd.” Here eye met eye. But Jim now 
placed his chair before the fire for Milt, so nothing further 
was said along the line of fortunes for the present. 

“Them lights!” exclaimed Milt next, his eyes wandering 
to the electric lamps. Here was a new and wonderful de¬ 
vice for his backwoods eye. Through the cement filling in 
the wall came a brass fitting representing a large flower 
stem. This curved upward and at a whorl of leaves di¬ 
vided into two pedicels, first rising then making graceful 
curves downward. At the end of each hung a white glass 
bell-shaped flower shade, the electric bulbs serving for the 
pistils. “Jacob’s cattle! Wouldn’t a sight of the cheer¬ 
fulness in this here cabin put joy into the crabapple heart 
of an old maid. With all this heat ’n’ light ye defy all 
frost. Strike oil and the world is yourn.” 

Meanwhile, during Milton’s chortling over comforts so 
remote to the people of Nubbin Ridge, luxuries that are 
so often within comparatively easy reach if the hand but 
turn the key to nature’s storehouse, Jim and Cad had 
dropped onto boxes. James was greatly interested at this 
particular moment in a carved wooden figure standing 
on a shelf underneath the light and wondering how it 
got there. He was positive it was not there ten minutes 


128 


THE BABON OF THE BABKENS 


before. \ r et there it stood and no mistaking what it was 
intended to represent, crude burlesque as it was. Already 
it was too late to spirit it away before it would catch Milt’s 
eye. Snowdon, nipping his lip, waited for the cloudburst 
which was imminent. 

“I’ve got so I want to be over here the hull durin’ time,” 
Milt was saying. “Yer life here is free from a perpetual 
jaw. Hain’t woke up out of a sound sleep to give an 

account of a last year-” He paused. The image had 

caught his eye. Slowly his jaw sagged; then he raised it, 
shifted his cud and swallowed hard, keeping his eyes 
riveted on an idol of the pet child of his fancy—the 
Hillside-Mooney! So plain was the likeness that he could 
not possibly confound it. At first sight of it, the old 
man’s look was a mixture of wonder and chagrin. Then 
he sat glowering, his eyes narrowing. Another fling from 
Allen, he felt. Blood was getting bad between them 
—and this ? 

The base was a large punk, or fungus growth, that 
Allen had found on an old log and fastened to the wall 
a few days previous, merely for a curio, as Snowdon had 
supposed. The object stood about a foot in height. For the 
head, Biley had furnished one of Jerushy’s garden gourds, 
the neck making an ideal nose with mouth cut beneath, 
squawberries for the red eyes, and fur, dyed red, for whisk¬ 
ers and hair. The body had been whittled from a block, the 
arms and legs, one short, from sticks; the coat and pants 
had been well tailored by the artful Cadmus. But the part 
of the joke that Milt did not relish was the lemon that 
stood on the head for a pumpkin and the toy horn at¬ 
tached to one arm. 

Mir. Cobb was at the boiling point. He turned to Snow¬ 
don. “Jim, I didn’t face the storm to-night to come over 
to be insulted,” he said, his voice raucous. 

Snowdon was looking annoyed. “My word, Mr. Cobb, I 
saw the shelf go up a few days ago but I did not dream 
of the purpose. Allen or the fairies are responsible for 
the appearance of Mr. Hillside-Mooney, done since you 



BALLET OF BIRDS AND MILTON 


129 


came in. In truth I never saw nor was I aware of the 
existence of the thing before your coming.” 

Milt turned on Allen. “Oh, set there will ye, lookin’ as 
solemn as an owl. Ye done it a purpose. All it lacks to 
be complete is a fortchin teller, stan’in’ Tong side it. Ye 
hain’t had jest quite all of yer hair to comb sence, hev ye, 
Mr. Allen? Pity she left ye a scalp lock, fer if ye don’t 
quit yer foolin’ with me, it’ll be hangin’ from my lodge- 
pole yit.” 

“Before she took a lock of my hair at the fond parting, 
Milt, she bade me beware of you after dark. Now if you 
would make your visits diurnal-.” The taunt went un¬ 

finished for Milton belied his years and logy bulk in the 
spirited spring he made for Allen. Cadmus, swift and 
slippery as the chameleon, darted past him from the cor¬ 
ner and brought up at the other end of the room. 

Doubly enraged Milton bore down on him again, in a 
charge like that of a mad bovine, bellowing, “I’m the High 
Kicker from Maine or the Hollyhock of the river. Once I 
git holt ’n’ they wont be a grease spot left of ye.” 

“Swing your partners,” cried Allen, easily sailing past 
him again on his approach. “Out with your old guitar, 
Jim, and I’ll call the figures for this dance. First couple 
round the outside,” as he dodged. 

“I lay to lam ye right onto that fire if I git holt of 
ye,” cried old Milt, wheeling and wheezing. 

“First couple lead up to the right and balance,” tor¬ 
mented Allen as he now jigged past him. 

Jim took the object of disturbance, the effigy, and threw 
it into the fire. 

“Oh, I’ll hurt ’im if I git ’im,” wheezed Milt, pausing 
and addressing Jim. 

“ ‘On with the dance!!’ Double sachez and the gents 
outside,” called Allen circling around him, for the old 
Trojan was becoming slow in the fray. 

“Ye don’t dar’ to stan’ up ’n’ fight me! Ye’re a 
coward!” Mjilt came to a standstill. “I c’d whup ye blind.” 

“If you’re tired chasin’ me around, walk Snowdon up 
and down for a spell. I’ll call for the next set. Let Jim 



130 


THE' BARON OF THE BARRENS 


shake a foot before the dance breaks up,” still bantered 
the irrepressible tormentor. 

Old Milt stood shaking with rage. He gave Allen one 
long, dangerous look, then returned to the rustic chair, 
puffing from the exercise like a kettle of mush. “Jim, 
Ed git rid o’ that monkey fust thing I done ’f’ise you,” 
he wheezed. “He’ll alius keep ye in trouble.” 

“What would I do for company?” 

“Keep a cat or parrot.” 

“Say, Milt,” said Allen engagingly as he seated him¬ 
self beside the old man, “let’s bury the hatchet. Shake,”— 
reaching out a hand. 

Decidedly and emphatically Milt brought down his fist 
on his leg, “Never!” 

“0, now, see here. I cross my heart I’ve nothing more 
up my sleeve for you tonight and the first fine day that 
comes and we can get away, we’ll go to town, have our 
fortunes told, dine at the Arlington, take in the theatre 
and-” 

“If ’twan’t stormin’ so like hell, I’d go right back home 
tonight,” broke in Milt. “Yer promises don’t go higher 
’n the smoke of a puff-ball. Jest when ye’re settin’ yer 
stillest is when ye’re hatehin’ out a brood o’ devil’s darnin- 
Sneedles to sting a feller. I hain’t as soft as ye take me. 
What ’a’ ye doin’, Jim?” 

“Going to make us the best cup of coffee we ever drank.” 

“Then,” said Allen, 

“ ‘We’ll all drink together. 

To the gray goose feather, 

And the land where the gray goose flew.’ ” 

“I’ll watch my cup so’s ye don’t slip somethin’ into 
it,” vowed Milt. 

“After we’ve drunk, we’ll sit around the fire in harmony 
and sing a ‘Come, all ye, and listen to the storm and 
throw cares to the winds,’ ” was Allen’s next inducement 
as he strove for peace. 



BALLET OF BIRDS AND MILTON 


131 


While Jim hustled preparations for coffee and sand¬ 
wiches, he quoted, 

“ "The night drave on wi’ songs and clatter, 

An’ aye the ale was growin’ better/ 99 

Cad came after with, 

“ ‘The storm wi’ out might rair and ristle, 

Tam did nae mind the storm a whistle/ 99 

And Milt, not to be left, 

4 

“ ‘Weel mounted on his gray mare Meg, 

A better never lifted leg/ 99 

“Say, Jim, recite Tam O’Shanter’ while you are 
brewing. It’ll add flavor/’ suggested Cad. 

At the suggestion, Jim first drew out coals from the 
fire on which to set the coffee-pot; then while the brew 
was boiling and filling the cabin with rich aromatic odor, 
he recited the celebrated poem with such dramatic force 
as to call forth from Milt a request for a repetition of 
the beautiful simile: 

“But pleasures are like poppies spread, 

You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; 

Or like the snowfall in the river, 

A moment white—then melts forever: 

Or like the borealis race, 

That flit ere you can point the place; 

Or like the rainbow’s lovely form, 

Evanishing amid the storm/’ 

■i 

Milt looked melancholy at the close. “How true that 
air is. How quick are the pleasures o’ life to speed. 
Fer instance that feast at the Arlington. Never agin will 
I have the chance o’ settin’ down to fare like that. An’ 
with sich a sweet little girl fer a pardner. Though it 


132 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


was like the fiery furnace for the Hebrew children for 
her. Hope it’s well with her now.” And he grew reflec¬ 
tive. 

Cadmus came forward with an answer. “Yes, it’s well 
with her, Milt, and it’s sure to be. Sure as Big Ben 
stands out there now above the cabin. According to 
Mademoiselle La Rooche, I am to marry her, then die of 
hunger and want to make her happy, for she afterwards 
marries Jim.” 

Both men looked at him half wonderingly for there 
was a note of earnestness in his voice. 

“Wal, afore she marries ye, I’d advise her to take out 
a heavy insurance on ye aginst laziness ’n’ hard times.” 

“A cup of coffee will sober him. Gather around the 
table,” ordered James. 

“Then put some strong onion draughts on his feet to 
draw it from his head ’n’ put him to bed,” said Milt, 
drawing up to the board. “Mebby by mornin’ he’ll be 
rational.” 

Jim passed Milt a rich cup of coffee. 

“Mr. Cobb, we have the foundation of the derrick 
completed, ready to start the first bent. If this polar 
blizzard abates, Riley will be here early and we’ll have 
it well up before night.” 

“Got the bull-wheels up from Comfort yit? Swan, 
that’s good coffee.” 

“Everything up and on the ground now ready but the 
cable and drill. Expect them up to-morrow.” 

“Everything ready to go to work but the spy. S’pose 
yer uncle furnishes that part. Goin’ to make the first well 
a mystery as they usually do in new territory hain’t ye?” 

“Have another sandwich. Milt, and let me give you an¬ 
other cup of coffee,” was Snowdon’s answer. 

“B'lieve I will indulge in another cup, thanky.” 

“Pass me that calamity, Milt, there near you,” said 
Allen, and Mjilton handed him the dish of baked beans. 

“Why hain’t ye drinkin’ yer coffee?” he inquired, notic¬ 
ing Cad’s cup untouched. 

“Don’t take my own poison when I can get ’round it,” 
returned Allen. 


BALLET OF BIRDS AND MILTON 


133 


Milt flew back from the table. “There, that accounts 
fer yer monkeyin’ round that coffee-pot when Jim’s back 
was turned!” he frenziedly exclaimed. “I see ye at it. 
Jim, we’ll be deader’n hell ’n less ’n half an hour. I 
thought I tasted somethin’ queer ’bout that coffee. He’s 
pizened us! Only one thing saves us: an’ that is to take 
a vomit!” He leaped up wildly. “Got a stomick pump, 
Jim? Luke warm water, even, will set us to gaggin’ 

’n’ mebby we kin raise ’er. If we can’t”- turning to 

Cad a reproachful look—“tell Ibby I died hard an’ to 
sell the cow an’ do the very best she ken with her; carve 
it on my tombstone, ‘Pizened from drink; but praise 
God ’twan’t wood alkyhol.’ ” 

Allen, strangling on his coffee from laughter, was by 
this time struggling to drink it to mitigate the old man’s 
suffering for Milton by this time was writhing in imagin¬ 
ary agony, believing his call had come. 

“He never drinks his coffee till at the finish of the meal. 
See, he is trying to drink it now,” vouchsafed Jim to quiet 
the old man’s fears. 

“He’d drink it if no other way was open to kill off 
all the rest. His life ain’t wuth a gnat’s egg-shell. What’s 
he care for it so’s he lays out somebody what is. If he 
dies, I hope the right word goes onto his tombstone ’n’ 
that is jest the word ‘It’ ’n’ no more. ‘Here lays It,’ or 
‘Here It is.’ ” 

By this time Snowdon’s laughter was not much lighter 
than Allen’s and Milt began to perceive that he was 
intended for the butt of ridicule. “B’lieve I’ll weather the 
storm ’n’ pike back home while the goin’s good. Don’t 
know’s I want to go back to the ole woman in a box.” 

Jim stepped to the door ahead of him and stood with 
his back against it, arms folded. “Now, Mr. Cobb, I 
wasn’t laughing from choice. Since Allen has broken up 
the feast in most, admired disorder again—he seems to 
have a mania for it—suppose we bind him and put him 
under the bed for the remainder of the evening to insure 
against further disaster. And if he is too_ noisy with his 
tongue, give him a gag bit to chew on. No going out in 



134 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


this storm again tonight, my good man. Why, you would 
never find your way back and die of exposure. Come 
back to the table”—taking him by the arm and leading 
him back—“and we’ll finish while Allen keeps silent.” 

“Yes, you want to stay. Milt; the fun hasn’t begun yet. 
I’m down on the program to hang by the hair of the head 
from the rafters for four hours before the show is over. 
After I’ve gone to sleep that way, Jim cuts me down,” 
was Allen’s silence. 

“Oh, do keep still, Cad. Your jokes are not popular 
with us any more, are they, Milt?” said Jim, fearful of 
some new outbreak. 

“Likely’s not I’ll be obleeged to lick ’im yit afore he’ll 
quiet down. His head is jest like a rattle-box.” 

Cadmus now rose from the table, sat down by the fire 
and began whittling at pieces to be used on the unfinished 
chair. 

Milton viewed the work with suspicion. “Startin’ in 
on another Hillside-Mooney, I reckon.” 

“When you’re choking on fried pheasant for breakfast 
you will feel better toward me,” Cad reminded him. 

“That’s right,” said Jim, sitting down between the pair. 
“Cad keeps us in game all the time so that I don’t have 
to buy much meat. He is an expert with gun and 
traps and snares. And he can cook game to perfection. 
Just notice the browned bird when it comes on the table 
in the morning. My mouth is watering now to think of 
it.” 

At the mention of the rare tidbit for breakfast, Milt 
held his peace. But his grouch was still gnawing at him. 
Allen, too, relapsed into silence, busy at his work. At his 
feet lay the dog, his head on his paws, giving jerks now 
and then, no doubt at game sighted in his dog-dreams. 
And while the wind roared without, swirling snow down 
the chimney to spit in the blaze with a witch’s spite, 
James and Milt talked over the morning’s plans. Malt 
occasionally rolling his eyes Allenward not certain but 
that he might be manufacturing another Hillside-Mooney 
to shock his serenitv after all. When it was time to retire, 


BALLET OF BIRDS AND MILTON 


135 


gauged by Milton’s yawns, Jim sought to pull the bed 
from the wall and place boxes behind it to widen it suffi¬ 
ciently for the trio. He could do this and make a com¬ 
paratively easy bed, w r hen pressed by the transient, by 
heaping old clothing on the boxes, finishing up with extra 
quilts and sheets. 

At the discovery of the make-shift, Milton raised his 
hand in protest. “Right here in this chair I’ll doze in 

comfort. Throw a quilt over it ’n’ fin’ me a pillar ’n’ 

I’ll sleep sound’s a log. No, ye won’t nuther take the 

chair, Jim. It’s me fer the chair. Come on with the 

kiver now ’n’ that settles it. Atween naps I’ll throw a 
log onto the fire ’n’ ’twon’t git cold in the cabin. Man, 
how I’ll sleep!” 

“Very thoughtful, Mr. Cobb. I’ve been worrying all 
evening over the third bed-fellow,” said Allen, ready to 
roll in. 

“You couldn’t possibly miss a chance of shootin’ yer 
wad,” flung Milt in return as he arranged his roost. 

“Peace be over this house of tribulation,” laughed Snow¬ 
don. “Now I’ll put out the clock, wind up the cat and 
seek my couch of dreams, that is if you fellows can agree 
in your sleep long enough to give me a nap.” 

“Remember, Mr. Cobb, if you start up that corrugated 
tin-ware snore of yours in the night, I’ll get up in 
my sleep and throw you into the fire,” was Cadmus’s part¬ 
ing injunction, as he rolled over to make room for Jim. 

“By the old Leviticus law, if you try it, your next 
ride’ll be to slow music, Mr. Allen,” was Milt’s good-night 
benediction. 

“Don’t you come back to that,” Jim warned Cad. “If 
you do, just to keep up a sparring match all night, I’ll 
get up and heave you out into a snow bank to cool 
jmir ardor. Nobody’s going to leave here to-night or to¬ 
morrow either if I’m forced to do some cuffing to quell 
this riot.” 

“Good-night, Milt, and happy dreams on a bedless 
night,” Cad sang out cheerily. Jim quietly reached out 
and clapped his hand over his mouth. 


13*6 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


Milt made no response and soon drifted into slumber- 
land with malice in his heart. He had taken an everlast¬ 
ing dislike to Cad. Cadmus, fully aware of it, sought every 
advantage to annoy him. 

The storm drove on with unabating fury throughout 
the night, which was eventless save that Milton engaged 
in a peripatetic march in the darkness, stumbling over the 
dog and setting him to howling. This aroused the sleepers 
for a time. Allen inquired of Jim if the cupboard was 
locked, whereupon Milton drowsily cussed heartily. 

The first to awake in the morning was the ever alert 
Cadmus. It was just faintly breaking day; outlines of 
objects were barely discernable in the room. He raised 
his head and looked Milt’s way. Quilt around him, 
blanketed like an Indian, the old man lay back in his 
chair, his head lolling over like an old hawk stung with 
shot. Cadmus leaped out of bed with a hoarse cry of 
alarm. “Morning,” he shouted, followed for Milt’s benefit 
by, 

“ ‘Everybody works but father, 

And he sits around all day.’ ” 

Milt and Jim and the dog sprang up. Bustle was the 
order in the cabin. The wind had fallen, the storm was 
over and work on the derrick that day would move with 
a vim. Cad soon had a fire roaring up the chimney and 
Jim brought more logs from the alley outside to replenish 
it. Then the small stove was placed on the hearth and 
filled with coals, more convenient for pancake baking than 
the open fire. The savory odor of pheasant, roasting in a 
skillet over coals, with that of coffee had a very mollify¬ 
ing effect on Milt. Cadmus at a hint from Jim was 
very gracious to the old gentleman who, notwithstand¬ 
ing he kept up the bars between them, grew less 
testy. While they were eating Jim observed some blue 
jays near the window hopping about on bushes, perhaps 
attracted by the smell of food. On the ground fully a 
foot deep, lay the snow which they defied to drive them 


BALLET OF BIRDS AND MILTON 


137 


from their northland home. In their bright coats of 
violet, dove-gray and white with sky-blue crests, the birds, 
tilting, balancing, bobbing, turning, flitting upward and 
downward, were a beautiful sight on a winter morning. 
Jim rose, took a pancake from the table and tore it into 
bits. Slowly and noiselessly he raised the window far 
enough to place the food on the outer sill, then lowered 
the window and took his place again at the table to watch 
proceedings. Soon he was rewarded for one vain coxcomb, 
bolder than his associates, flew toward the sill. He lighted 
on the ledge and peered around a moment as if in un¬ 
certainty. He then picked up a morsel and returned to 
his companions, possibly to communicate the tidings, for 
he soon returned followed by the whole troupe. They 
quickly dispatched the proffered delicacy, then flitted back 
to the ozier bushes to repeat the frolic. 

James, motionless, had witnessed the fete enchanted. 
“The ballet and the banquet of the birds,” he commented. 

“One’s tail is missin’,” observed Milt, shoveling pancake 
with his knife. “Somethin’ ’s reached for ’im in the 
survival o’ the fittest.” 

“My feathered neighbors will now visit me every day 
I am sure.” 

“Let Lark out ’n’ you’ll see ’em skite,” counseled Milt. 

“The spirit that will protect and care for a bird or a 
flower is a safe one,” returned Jim. 

“Some see only the beauties o’ nature while others 
see only use. I only see the use,” said Milt in defense, 
supping coffee from his saucer. 

“Use is it that you see in the Hillside-Mooney ?” Allen 
exploded. “He’s a freak work of nature but nature he is. 
What’s his use ?” 

Milt raised his cup to throw it but the day was saved 
by the sudden opening of the door and the timely and 
precipitate advent of Riley Henshaw. 

“Sun’s goin’ to shine 'an’ take off the snow an’ we’ll 
make that old derrick walk up today,” were Riley’s 
words in glowing anticipation of the enterprise as he 
partook of such of the breakfast as was left, while Jim 


138 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


and Cad hustled around, setting the cabin in order and 
gathering up tools. 

Soon they set forth down the road toward Comfort. In 
possibly half a mile they came to the oil well site. The 
foundation for the derrick had been previousy completed. 
The task now was to run up the derrick. First the snow 
was removed from the tops of lumber piles. On James 
devolved the laying out of the frame, the measuring and 
marking, while the others kept saws busy. In a short 
time lumber was cut for the first bent. As that rose with 
hammer accompaniments to the whistling, singing, and 
laughter of the party, the Barrens rang with the echoes. 
Even the dog entered into the spirit of the gaiety and at 
all times could be heard his sharp bark in the bushes 
as he sighted or started game. Before the second bent 
was finished that forenoon, to old Milt, Cadmus had be¬ 
come a wonder. Nimble and adroit, he climbed and 
gamboled high in the air like a squirrel. Leaping and 
springing, he caught board and tools with the dexterity 
of a trapeze performer. It was clear now to Malt why 
James so cleaved to him: he was an expert worker, bub¬ 
bling over with good humor, ready to do or die. 

Long before the close of the second day’s work, the 
derrick, nine bents, seventy-two feet high, stood completed 
and was viewed by the rustics of Nubbin Ridge from afar 
as the hope of the hills. Cad and Riley had finished the 
crown ready for the pulley, which was not to go up till the 
next morning. They had been sitting for some time view¬ 
ing the country, which seemed entirely new from that 
high elevation, with a pair of field glasses which Cad had 
taken up for the express purpose. Riley was holding the 
glasses when something unusual arrested his attention. 

“Jim, come up here, quick, an’ see what I’ve discov¬ 
ered,” he called down to Snow r don as he lowered the optics. 
“Company for you already.” 

James and Milt were working at the foot of the derrick 
when the call came. There was something in Riley’s 
voice that portended grave discovery. James left his work 
on the instant and hurriedly climbed aloft. Cad descend- 


BALLET OF BIRDS AND MILTON 


139 


ed the ladder a short distance and perched in the top 
of the derrick to make room for him when he came up. 
As James seated himself, Riley handed him the glasses and 
pointed out the place of interest. It was a huge rock 
standing on the steep side of the opposite hill, not a great 
distance by air line, but a long way if reached by de¬ 
scending into the gulch and climbing again. Seen with 
the naked eye, two black objects were faintly discernible 
on top of the rock. 

‘“Whew!” exclaimed James as he brought the lenses 
to a focus. “According me an early signal for trouble.” 

“Know the parties?” inquired Rile.y. 

“Very well,” replied Snowdon as he returned the glasses 
and began the descent. 

“Who was it?” asked Cad of Riley as they started to 
follow down. 

“His uncle, John Snowdon, and Hannibal Hayhow.” 

“They may make him some trouble later but let them 
‘beware the fury of a patient man’ ” was Cad’s proud 
boast in the prowess of Snowdon. 


XIV 


THE SCHOOL, THE WHISTLER AND THE STORM 

Christmas was near and the spirit of it was running 
rampant on Nubbin Eidge. The Nubbin Eidge people 
could never recall any feeling so feverish in the history 
of the place. Not a soul from the oldest inhabitant, Uncle 
Ned Podge, who could light ninety-seven candles on his 
birthday cake, down to the youngest but was surcharged 
to the bursting point with the glowing anticipation of 
the festivities to be "pulled off” at the schoolhouse, Christ¬ 
mas Eve. The merry stir in the air began to grow from 
the time it was announced in Sunday-School by the 
Widow Wiggins, the salient superintendent with tongue 
like a rapier, that Elder Wilder, the tramp preacher, and 
Cadmus Allen of the Barrens would deliver able addresses. 
At the promise of the appearance of Cadmus in public, the 
younger set went wild; and gradually the elders, who first 
looked upon his promised effort with misgivings, leaped the 
fence after them. Then there was to be a real Santa Claus 
this year—another thrilling innovation. And the superin¬ 
tendent never failed to announce in meetings that she 
would make the opening prayer. That meant a currying 
of all evil doers. Miss Arabella Blodgett, the school¬ 
teacher, an old maid of spare frame, Sharper than a bag 
of augers” to quote Milt Cobb, took the training of the 
performers “in hand.” Last, but far from least, Jerushy 
Henshaw was to preside at her own wheezy, little cottage 
organ which she had generously proffered, thus innocently 
spelling murder for the music. 

Cad’s prominence among them was due to the fact that 
for some time back he had been a regular attendant at 
Sabbath-School, always in company on Sundays with Eiley 
Henshaw, now a boon companion, and their regularity 
and interest had brought in other young men. The day 

140 


SCHOOL, WHISTLER AND THE STORM 1 141 


lie came home flushed with prominence and announced his 
enviable part in the programme, the conservative James 
was seized with serious but silent apprehension. Cadmus 
was erratic. Where might the path of glory lead? James 
had just returned from Comfort, four miles away, where, 
when weather permitted, he attended the Presbyterian 
Church and Sabbath-School—the creed of his fathers. 
Too far for Cadmus. Not he. So James was pleased 
when Cadmus united in Sunday worship with the Nubbin 
Ridge people at the schoolhouse. But as to an address— 
James turned his head and gasped. 

A heavy snow was retarding work on the well. They 
had spudded down to the bed-rock but were now waiting 
for a thaw. James did not care to drill too fast. Spring 
w r ould be soon enough to finish the well and unleash the 
dogs of war. Meanwhile the wait would afford Cad leisure 
to compose and rehearse his Christmas number. 

Cadmus began at once to burn midnight oil, grind¬ 
ing out his composition. So intensely did he cleave to 
the work that James sometimes chided him soundly and 

t j 

warned him not to delve too deeply into the subject mat¬ 
ter for his brain might not stand the strain and sickness 
or insanity might ensue. Scribble, scribble, scratch and 
erase, whispers or audible mutters, the work went on and 
Jim grew more and more curious to know the trend of 
the remarks. But Cadmus shunned his confidence. Some¬ 
times, however, he would rouse James out of a sound 
sleep to discuss some ornate figure of speech; and when 
asleep and dreaming, he would often toss and thrash about 
in the throes of delivery of pathetic eloquence. “Who 
kindled the fires of freedom? Who weltered in their 
gore at Bunker Hill that freedom might live? Who car¬ 
ried the flag into the jaws of the British lion in 1779?” 
And James w r ould wonder how historical eulogy was going 
to fit into a Christmas address. 

When at last it was finished and committed, Cadmus 
would stand in divers places to rehearse. Sometimes from 
the roof of the engine-house he would “spout” an unintelli¬ 
gible flow of soul; then again he would pose on Big Ben 
and with outstretched arms address himself to the clouds, 


» 


142 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


the trees or the derrick. One day when he was out 
practicing as usual, James chanced to discover his manu¬ 
script lying on the table, left there by accident, and stole 
a glance at the subject. It was “Corn-Cobs.” A further 
glance proved that the citizens of Nubbin Ridge, were 
categorized therein as “corn-crackers.” Snowdon fell across 
the bed, limp and helpless in a tit of laughter. As he lay 
there laboring in nothing short of agony, from the top of 
Big Ben outside came the shout of “0, King, live forever!” 
It was now clear that Mr. Allen was practicing subterfuge. 
None of the utterances that he was shouting within hearing 
would be given in the speech on Christmas Eve. But a 
criticism might upset the whole kettle of sweets for in 
literary matters Allen was obdurate. James chose not to 
meddle and let the speaker take the consequences. He 
slipped out doors and into the woods, there to remain long 
enough for Allen to make the recovery of his paper and 
still hold the opinion that he was guarding a secret. 

The next morning, Allen started away from the cabin 
at a very early hour for singing practice at the Nubbin 
Ridge schoolhouse. All the minstrels in the exercises 
were expected to be there at 8.30 sharp and vocalize the 
half hour before school-time. Cad arrived as per schedule 
as did the others and very soon they were lined up in 
front rendering “Beautiful Star of Bethlehem,” led by 
Miss Arabella b}^ virtue of her superior musical education. 
Miss Arabella, standing apart from the other singers, book 
in one hand, hickory pointer in the other, beat the time 
right through and kept it with her head. She was tall, 
angular and inflexible—school-teacher written on every 
point and feature—and her voice broke sharply like a 
cracked bell. She bore wide reputation for hand dis¬ 
cipline, which -was confirmed when Cad would observe 
urchins occasionally dropping in noiselessly and stealthily 
taking their seats, there to sit as immovable as wooden 
pegs. To Riley’s amusement, she was taking a great 
“shine” to Cad, forgetting her years and becoming quite 
tittery, the poppin-jay encouraging her. Nothing would 
satisfy when 9.00 o’clock came and the singers disbanded, 
but that he and Mr. Henshaw remain for the morning 


SCHOOL, WHISTLER AND THE STORM 143 


session of school. “Mr. Cadmus Allen of the Barrens” 
acquiesced, but duty called Riley away. 

Ihe tocsin sounded and Miss Arabella's day began. 
After the motley shavers had taken their seats, her first 
move was to snap her fingers. This meant to “sit up 
straight” with folded arms. The signal was universally 
respected. Cad observed they were a cowed group and he 
pitied them. Miss Arabella read from the Scriptures in 
her cold, cracked voice but Allen was positive her pupils 
were not listening from the way they kept rolling their eyes 
toward him. When Mftss Arabella finished her reading, 
down on her knees she went beside her chair and likewise 
down went the whole school, their faces impish as they 
disappeared below the desks. This was their time for 
relaxation and fun, it seemed. Cad sat with bowed head 
and listened. From a couple of seats ahead of him, came 
smothered snickers, followed soon by a loud bursting snort! 
The prayer came to an abrupt end and Miss Arabella was 
on her feet! Heads peeped up, then drew down again. 
“Ylou may rise,” she said, her face scarlet. Back to the 
seat from whence the laughing came she sailed in battle 
array. Two small boys were the culprits. She collared 
them, marched them to the front and stood them on the 
rostrum. Both were sniveling from fright, anticipat¬ 
ing a sound beating. Miss Arabella stepped back and 
stood looking at them, her face now a deathly palor, too 
amazed and too full for utterance. 

“Teacher, he m-m-m-made me laugh ’bout what he 
said ’bout you,” came the confession from the larger of 
the pair, turning states evidence in hopes of saving his 
own jacket. 

The leader of the rebellion now stood alone, trying to 
blink the tears away in a vain effort at bravery. He was a 
freckle-faced little boy, shabbily dressed with shoes several 
sizes too large for him. Miss Arabella’s eyes shot lightning 
as she reached for the birch of correction that lay on 
her desk. “What did he say?” she demanded in ripping 
tones as she turned to the witness and took the offender by 
the hand, ready for action. 

“W’y, he said, 


144 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


‘As Miiss Blodgett went to say her prayers, 

A little mouse ran down the stairs/ ” 

The irresistible laughter that rose from all quarters 
of the room at the unexpected, had the effect of halting 
the stern executioner. She looked over the room at what 
seemed a sea of insubordination, humiliated, she felt, in 
the sight of the visitor, and her face turned red again 
as live coals. The boys in the seat behind Cad’s back 
began to stir. 

“Ted T1 git beat up good an 5 proper this time for 
his po’try that he’s pulled off on the old girl,” one whis¬ 
pered. 

“Ef he’d jest right up a say now to the old pullet, 
‘Thou art like unto a flower/ she’d tone right down an’ 
lay up her whip an’ kiss ’im prob’ly.” 

Arabella turned on the boy again, but it struck her that 
the offence was so enormous it merited slow torture. She 
dropped his hand to think of a way to grill him, but held 
him with caustic look as she devised. Nothing could 
be heard in the room but the ticking of the clock. 

While the lad was waiting doom, he turned shame¬ 
facedly toward Cad a round roguish face, brimming over 
with good humor and with no trace of badness. The clear- 
cut features were keen with intelligence, an intelligence 
that had got him into trouble. He had dried his tears 
and was smiling and the smile was humor itself. Allen’s 
heart was aching for him and the smile that he returned 
said: “Be brave, little fellow!” 

“Gosh, I feel sorry for Ted!” came again from behind 
Allen’s back. “Hain’t got no mother an’ his old man jest 
makes the flesh fly when he licks ’im. I got a big biscuit 
in my pail to give ’im at noon.” 

“I’ve got a piece o’ sweet-cake for ’im today,” whispered 
the other. 

That settled it for the emotional Allen. Ted was a 
favorite among his companions. He had no mother and 
a father that beat him. But how to dislodge Miss Ara¬ 
bella ! 

She now acquitted the witness, and with hanging head 


SCHOOL, WHISTLER AND THE STORM 145 


he slunk back to his seat while she turned to the con¬ 
victed to pronounce sentence. Her voice was omnious as 
she preferred the charge: “Ted Atwater, you are incor¬ 
rigible and a constant menace to the good order and wel¬ 
fare of the Nubbin Ridge School. You are beset with the 
nefarious habit of composing doggerel verse and employ¬ 
ing it to burlesque school government, a habit that inspires 
the other pupils to become refractory. This morning, you 
have desecrated the period for devotional exercises, and 
now you are about to pay the penalty. 

“But ‘The quality of mercy is not strained/ ” continued 
Miss Arabella. “Thus I will afford you an opportunity to 
escape punishment in this way. If you compose a verse 
on the same subject and repeat it within one minute, 
you shall receive only a severe reprimand.” 

She raised the whip above him and in that precarious 
attitude stood watching the second hand of the clock. 
And the boy stood watching the whip. 

“She’s givin’ him a William Tell chance to escape,” 
came from behind Cad’s ear and Cad was watching, breath¬ 
less. “Ef she licks ’im onreasonable, I’m jist a goin’ to 
peel my coat an’ goin’ up an’ hand her a Jack Dempsey 
right between the eyes. I can lick any womern in Sal 
King Township!” 

“Me, too,” reiterated his satellite. “That kid that 
squealed on ’im is goin’ to git it at recess.” 

The time was ripe for the drop of Damocles’ sword. 
The boy still said nothing and down came the gad with 
a swish. But the budding poet, with unbelievable agility 
sprang back in time to escape the cut and in that spring 
sang out merrily, 

\ 

“Here I stand before Miss Blodgett, 

She’s goin’ to strike but I’m goin’ to dodge it.” 

The yell that rose this time was deafening. Arabella 
had lost ground. Ted had come through with pennant 
flying. Even cheers went up as Miss Arabella stood by, 
defeated. Was the iron grasp by which she held the 
Nubbin Ridge School, slipping? In Cad’s struggle to 


146 


THE BARON OF THE BARREN'S 


restrain from laughing in her humiliated presence, tears 
ran down his cheeks. 

“You may take your seat, Ted Atwater,” Arabella 
weakly said as she wanly sank down on a chair. Then 
she imploringly looked at Cad. “Mr. Allen, what’s the 
remedy ?” 

“Pray with their heads above board, I would suggest. 
Miss Blodgett,” he respectfully answered. 

“But I’m—a Methodist,” faltered Miss Blodgett. 

“An most of us kids are Presbyterians an’ can’t go 
the knee action,” piped one of the urchins sitting behind 
Cad, emboldened to change the old order. 

Miss Arabella slit overwhelmed. Cad rose to the 
rescue. 

“Miss Blodgett, I would further suggest that you pro¬ 
ceed now with the regular routine of work as though noth¬ 
ing had happened. Clouds always pass away and this will 
soon blow over. Go right on-” 

“Mention it to ’er to limber up a little on her civics, 
will you, while yer usin’ salve, Mr. Cad,” came a voice 
from behind. “She’s lickin’ us and keepin’ us in cuz 
we can’t learn by heart the clean-up chapter.” 

“I will not stand this any longer,” vehemently cried 
Miss Arabella springing up and seizing a ruler, tired by 
the spread of insurrection that was threatening her realm. 
“Pupils will never talk to me like that”—and she started 
on a campaign to quell the rumblings of uprising. In 
a hurried march, she made straight for the young rebel 
who sat behind Cad, but he assumed that a good run was 
better than a poor stand and was making a spirited dash 
for the door when a loud rap outside halted him and 
brought the house to order. As the fugitive stole back 
to his seat, his pursuer dropped the ruler on a desk and 
proceeded, troubled but desperate, to the door. Crab- 
apple Jones, the local member of the Board of Education 
of Sal King Township, had arrived. 

Now this opportune morning visit of Mr. Jones w r as 
purely official. He had appeared on an important but 
delicate mission. As is commonly the case among school 
children, an infectious skin disease had made its appear- 



SCHOOL, WHISTLER AND THE STORM, 147 


ance on Nubbin Ridge and the good dames of the Ridge 
were waxing warm over the rumor that pupils who were 
“scratchin’ an’ diggin’ ” were allowed to attend school 
and spread the complaint. A report to the Board had 
results. Jones, a prominent figure of that august body, 
was authorized to investigate and dispense with the tick¬ 
lish affair. So Miss Arabella, aware of his purpose, pilot¬ 
ed him to the rostrum, and seated him in state. A death¬ 
like hush prevailed. Perhaps he had descended on them 
further to encourage Arabella in a more stringent course 
of flagellation, was their thought. Miss Arabella first held 
a whispered consultation with the worthy official, then he 
rose to a point of duty. Clutching hold of a chair- 
back he peered down over them. They slipped even lower 
in their seats. After a violent clearing of the throat, 
Mr. Jones began, with an occasional halt in his address 
to impress them with profundity: 

“Scholars and friends of edgeucation (meaning Cad) 
of the Nubbin Ridge School District of the Great Com¬ 
monwealth of Pennsylvany: After havin’ greatness thrust 
upon me by the voters of Sal King Township, I am before 
ye this mornin’ to carry out the trust of a long-sufferin’ 
people. I am creditably informed that the itch has broke 
out among ye. Our first great epidemic was measles in the 
fall. But this seems a deeper sorrow. I am here this 
mornin’ to weigh it in all its aspects (they looked for his 
scales and drew down again). Now how many of y e 
have the itch? Come raise yer hands.” And he raised 
his own to lead them. “Don’t be back’ard ’bout it now. 
Up with yer hands. See here, now, if ve don’t raise yer 
hands. I’ll appint the teacher here to look ye over.” 

“I have observed thirteen infected,” said Miss Arabella 
with pursed lips. 

“Thirteen,” repeated Crab-apple dropping his hand. 
“How many are on the roll? ''—turning to Miss Arabella. 

“Twenty-three.” 

“See, that leaves—that leaves-” 

“Twelve not affected yet,” snapped Miss Arabella. 

“Yes twelve. Thirteen got it an’ twelve hain’t got it, 
yit. The itch side is the strongest. Lemme see—lemme 



148 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


see. Now all ye that hain’t got the itch may put on yer 
things an’ go home. Ye are outnumbered by one and 
majority rules—must rule—ever will rule. To ye that 
are to remain ye are forchinate, indeed, in scorin’ a 
majority. It leaves ye the field. It affords ye a great 
oppertunity in gittin’ an edgeucation over them that are 
less forchinit. An’ so it is always along the stony path¬ 
way o’ life, my young fr’en’s. What appears to us at first 
as pesterin’ as itch or the measles, is sure to turn out a 
blessin’ in disguise. Without prejudice, I have decided 
today atween the tribes at war an’ feel I’ve done my duty 
in the exercise thereof. An’ now ye who are under a ban 
an’ about to disperse, go forth with my deepest sorrer. 
But should ye break out with the pesky disease come back 
an’ line in with the lucky. And ye who are to remain, 
I exhort you to persevere. An’ if I w T as your teacher I 
would be severe an’ make ye purr if ye ever went below 
one word in spellin’. Spellin’ is the bulwark o’ the na¬ 
tion-” 

He was talking yet when Cad quietly rose, bowed an 
adieu to the horrified Mtiss Arabella and tip-toed from 
the room. When the whistles over the country blew noon, 
Crab-apple was still haranguing the children, exhorting 
them to lead useful lives; stick to the Ridge and raise 
long ears of corn where their ignorant ancestors had 
raised only nubbins, for such a grand and glorious work 
would change the name of Nubbin Ridge to something 
like a full ear and create a better impression beyond the 
Ridge. Miss Arabella had her resignation ready and pre¬ 
sented it to him when he closed. He deplored the act, but 
she was obdurate and joined the exodus of the healthy as 
they jubilantly departed. Thus on that eventful morning, 
Miss Blodgett ended a career of contrarieties on Nubbin 
Ridge. Stilled was the daily hum in the corn-cob hive of 
erudition till the Monday following New Year’s when a 
new pedagogue, Solon Cipher, entered upon his duties 
therein. 

What of Cadmus? From the sehoolhouse he loped 
across the road and struck into the red-brush, homeward 
bound. That last look of the sorely tried Arabella noth- 



SCHOOL, WHISTLER AND THE STORM 149 


ing could ever efface from his memory. Consigned to 
work among lepers she afterwards reported. To old Jones, 
lathy, wizzened, raving in his platitudinous talk, no car¬ 
toons could do justice! and Ted Atwater! Allen quick¬ 
ened his run down the slope, now growing steep, to tell 
Jim of little Ted. There was something remarkable 
about the boy, he felt; something extraordinary. He 
was positive Jim would become interested in his welfare. 
As he came down the steep hill through laurel tangle to 
the accustomed place of crossing Hazel Fork, he knelt 
down on the mossy stones to quench his thirst. It was 
in a deep dell, dark with hemlocks, where the waters of 
many brooks from the rocky hillsides joined on their way 
to the river. Here the converging deep depressions of 
the region rendered it strangely adapted to reflect sounds. 
The vibratory notes of a hermit-thrush caught Cad’s ear 
as he drank. It was a strange time of year for songs of 
wood birds and he raised his head to listen. An auricular 
deception he thought, remembering the bird sings rarely 
later than August in northern climes. Again it came as 
if from nowhere and Cad rose to his feet. And now it 
was followed by the liquid whistle of the oriole from a di¬ 
rection that was also vague. Had he been wafted into an 
Elysium of heavenly bird songs ? Yet the song bore sound 
curiously akin to human imitation. Soon his muse was 
broken by a ringing boyish laugh as musical as the bogus 
carols. Cad wished to meet the owner of the voice and 
called several times, but his efforts were rewarded only bv 
a mocking laugh, each time from an indeterminate direc¬ 
tion. 

“Just show me a wing or a foot, ye human warbler of 
the dales-, and I’ll go on my way satisfied,” called Cad, 
reluctant to give it up. 

His entreaty was rewarded by neither sight nor further 
sound; so after crossing the brook, he started up the steep 
hillside in wonderment. This new country to him was a 
land of strange sights, strange sounds, strange happenings. 
As he ascended the hill, the dense growth of woods gave 
way to bushes and rocks and when he gained the summit, 
he could see the s-moke ascending from the cabin at Hermit 


150 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


Spring on the next ridge. A strong wind was driving a 
huge, dark mass of clouds from the north and a snow¬ 
storm was imminent. Even before he reached the bottom 
of the intervening gulf, the clouds let loose a fury of snow¬ 
flakes so thick that Allen could only pursue his way by 
knowledge of the country, and even this was growing un¬ 
certain. Once down at the bottom of the gulch, just ready 
to begin the ascent for home, he paused, baffled. He could 
not move in the thick whiteness. 

“ ‘Found buried in white/ will be the sad message they 
get at home when I am found next spring in the hills/' 
he said aloud to himself as he shook the snow from his 
head and shoulders, buttoned his coat-collar more tightly 
and boldty struck out for higher territory, uncertain of his 
bearings. 

“Come, own up, Allen, you’re lost/’ he again said to 
himself after a time, sitting down on a log to rest, for 
traveling was becoming arduous and slow as the snow 
deepened on the steep hillside. “And right here in stone’s 
throw of Hermit Spring. Never in my life before did I 
see the white come down as it’s coming now. This is 
worse than being lost on the prairie for there you can navi¬ 
gate. The earth is under your feet there instead of its 
being in your face as it is here in these bloomin’ hills. 
Well, sing, Allen.” 

Bravely he began to sing “Tipperary,” drawing out, 
“ ’Tis a long way to go” into a dismal howl, an outlet 
to his reckless defiance of the storm. He could not 
look up, for the flakes, and so sat singing the lyric with 
head hung nearly between his knees, lost on the Barrens! 

“Indians never get lost, never freeze,”’ he mused at 
length, lifting his head and trying to penetrate the curtain 
of snow and get a sight of the hill. “Wonder if the top 
is stickin’ out yet.” After a short distance of labored 
upgrade, a young hemlock, its thick green branches droop¬ 
ing heavily under the weight of snow, offered him tem¬ 
porary shelter; and carefully crawling under the friendly 
canopy, so as not to shake down the load upon him, he 
sat down a second time for a rest. The ground was yet 


SCHOOL, WHISTLER AND THE STORM 151 


comparatively bare in the retreat, and it proved a God- 
given haven for the time being. 

“We are thankful for this favor of a roost,” he muttered 
as he shook his cap and brushed the damp snow from his 
heavily-coated clothing. But the smile he attempted was 
somewhat inept. He looked at his watch. “Getting long 
towards noon and I'm hungrier than a fasted bear. If 
’twasn’t for that I’d hibernate here till the spew is over. 
Don't like the sound of my own voice but poor company 
is better than none. Well! Well!”—as he peered out and 
got a glimps-e of the almost perpendicular incline that he 
must mount. “Reason a bit, Mr. Cadmus C. Allen, late 
of the great State of Oklahoma, Pawnee County, U. S. A., 
before you hit the uncertain trail: First, you’re in the 
woods on the hills and out in squally weather; the next 
lamentable fact, you’re lost from the established crossing 
between Nubbin Ridge and Hermit Spring; whether you 
are east or west of that beaten track is mad speculation. 
When the mind is lost, the right peg out-travels the left 
because of its superstrength; that gets me to cutting cir¬ 
cles; but I can overcome that pickle by taking every step 
for highest ground possible; that is bound to bring me to 
the top of the ridge, all things favorable; once there, and 
the least bit of a lull in the deposit, I can locate myself.” 
Thus saying, he pulled up his leggins, buckled them tight¬ 
er, then crept out of the covert and started a new line 
of attack. 

His strength and agility, aided by his ready valor in 
overcoming obstacles, told well as he made perceptible 
progress up the steep in the face of the blinding blanket of 
white. This, however, in a short time began to grow 
thinner and he knew the storm was abating. His hopes 
rose. High up the hill, a ledge of rocks, running along 
the side, rose in a formidable barrier across the way. 
Great gray crags, heaps upon heaps, reared their heads 
against the sky which had cleared before he came up 
to the stone-crop. 

“Don’t b’lieve I’ll ’tend school very regular this winter 
if my first day is like those to follow,” he said as he 
laid his hand against the side of a rock, unusually high 
Jim’s fence to crawl through. Don’t remember ever 


152 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


being on this side of it before. It's a good one and when 
I find a gap an’ get through, I trust heTI open a tin can 
of peaches in honor of my home-coming.” 

He ran an eye along the base of the ramparts and dis¬ 
covered what appeared to be an opening some distance to 
the left. Snow-trudging was light work now as he hur¬ 
ried to scrutinize the breach in hopes of a passage. A nar¬ 
row defile, a rock fissure formed b}^ the disintegrating 
upheaval of the earth’s primeval crust, offered penetration 
for some distance, when it came to an abrupt end. High 
on every side rose forbidding walls. He began a search 
for some place to climb rather than retrace his way. 
Nothing presented itself save an old, charred, pine log-top 
with projecting knots that stood leaning against a rock and 
afforded a ladder up to what appeared to be a terrace 
above, a matter of twenty feet. To this elevation he 
easily climbed—a rock plateau—and walked to the end, 
where he leaped across a chasm to another rock which 
proved to be the last high one in the great divide. This 
sloped to the ground. It would be rather steep to walk 
down but he resolved to hazard a trial. Selecting a place 
that appeared to be the smoothest slide in case he should 
be forced to make the descent in that fashion, he paused 
on the brink before taking the first step. There might be 
hidden rocks below, but he depended on the deep bed of 
snow to break the contact. 

“No skis, no sledge have I,” he said, “to help me in my 
downward plunge from Alpine heights but here I break 
away.” And he started. After taking several giddy steps, 
he unavoidably sat down. It might have been a drop 
that he took, so swift was the flying trip ploughing a 
deep furrow as he cascaded. With a soft thud he landed 
in a stone pit. The mattressed rocks did not give him 
much jar when he struck and all would have been well 
had his head not hit a jutting spur. He sank limply 
into the deep snow, his head thrown back, resting against 
a snow-mantled rock, drops of blood trickling from a 
contusion on his forehead. And very white was his up¬ 
lifted face while Jim waited dinner in the cabin. 


XY 


WHEREIN JAMES MA.KES TWO DISCOVERIES 

One o’clock. Jim rose from his seat by the fire. Noth¬ 
ing strange in Cad's remaining away for such a length of 
time; he might have gone home with Riley from the 
rehearsal Snowdon strove to reason, but forebodings kept 
sailing like storm clouds above the horizon of his thought. 
He struggled to tell himself he was fear-foolish. But the 
dog, too, he noticed was uneasy. Through the window 
he could see him sitting on a stump, the accustomed place 
where he was wont to wait and watch for Cad’s return 
when he was away; but twice within the last few minutes 
the dog had lifted his head and drawn long, dismal howls. 
Was there such a thing as animal premonition of dis¬ 
aster? It was a harrowing thought that would not be 
brushed aside. After making the fire safe, he donned 
coat and cap and strode out, determined to take the 
hidden trail for Nubbin Ridge, no longer able to endure 
the oppression of growing fears. Emerging into the clear¬ 
ing below him a small boy, poorly clad, was floundering 
up the path toward him. The dog gave a warning bark. 

a Be quiet, . Lark,” said Jim, stroking the silken hair 
of the faithful fellow. “Maybe he brings us news of Cad.” 
At the mention of Cad, the dog leaped down and bounded 
around him, the while wagging his tail and keeping up 
a pitiful whine. 

“Whom have we here, little man?” asked Jim as the boy 
came laboring up, quite out of breath. 

“Ted Atwater,” was the heroic reply, “an’ I’ve come 
to live with you and Mr. Cad.” 

“When do your trunks arrive?” laughed Jim. 

“B’lieve me, all I own is on my back. But I can work. 
You keep house an’ I know how to make soft soap. ’N’ 
I can watch the oil well nights for I beerd they was goin’ 

153 


154 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


to sneak on you. 0, hain’t this a dandy dog!”—as Lark 
placed his paws on his shoulders, looking into his face 
and wagging his tail to seal a friendship. 

“'Where do you live?” asked Jim. 

“Live ? Not much of a life you’d think. That is, I 
hain’t died yit over down on Nubbin Ridge. Mr. Cad 
come yit?” 

“Cad. No. Hid you see him today ?” 

“W’y, yes. Hain’t he home yit? He crossed Hazel 
Fork before it snowed. I seen him ahead of me but lost 
him when the storm came on; an’ hain’t he got home yit?” 

Back down the snowy way he had just traversed by the 
hardest effort, the little lad turned a troubled gaze. He 
had expected Cad to be there ahead and espouse his plea 
for adoption into the Hermit Spring circle, for he was 
sure that he had captivated Cad during the morning 
exercises at the schoolhouse. And now Cad was not 
there and lost! 

James felt easier. Allen was located. But why lost in 
the hills he had learned so well on his hunting excursions ? 
Sombre echoes came up from the murmuring hemlocks 
below responsive to Snowdon’s loud call. And these 
were the only sounds that came back. 

“Laddie, you go into the cabin and eat the dinner that 
is waiting for Cad. Dry your clothes and if I hav’n’t 
found him by that time I may need you. Hear me?” 

“Yes, Mr. Jim,” answered the hungry urchin, almost 
with reverence. James’ eyes followed him till the door 
closed after him. His coarse, cheap clothes, not even 
patched, bore the evidence of abject poverty and lack of 
care. 

“It’s a hard heart which has no opening door for some 
dead mother’s hungry and heart-starved boy. Come here, 
Lark. Hop up on the stump now.” He pointed the place 
and the dog instantly obeyed the order. James put one 
arm around his neck and pointed again in the direction 
in which the dog had watched Cad go. “Where’s Cad? 
Dear old Cad?” The dog listened, his ears pointing the 
direction, his feet and tail furiously patting the stump. 


JAMES MAKES TWO DISCOVERIES 155 


waiting the order to go. “Now, Cad’s lost, old fellow. 
We must go find Cad.” 

Like an arrow, the faithful collie cleaved the air in a 
graceful leap, wild for the search. To him had now 
come the call of the wild moors and highlands where his 
ancestors had hunted strays from the flock and guided 
shepherds and sheep through the raging blizzard safely 
back to the fold. It was the first potent call of the heath 
in his blood. Quickly he disappeared over the billows of 
snow, down, on down the hillside, his cry coming back 
fainter and fainter. Jim lunged after him, a bit top-heavy 
in the main-sails. 

When no sound from the dog came back, Snowdon 
stopped and listened. Only the mockery of the winds 
broke the solemn stillness. He mounted a rock and called; 
then listened. His cry was answered by crows; their caws 
in noisy conclave came from somewhere far around the 
hill. The collie now returned from a fruitless search 
with lolling tongue and quick panting breath and threw 
himself down in the snow at Jim’s feet; but the look of 
the dog as he gazed wistfully up was not that of defeat. 
He kept turning his head in various directions, listening 
and scenting, perking up first one ear and then the other. 
Brief was his rest, and then up and away he bounded in 
the direction from which came the disturbed cries of the 
crows. Jim remembering that crows congregate over any¬ 
thing unusual in the woods, plunged after the dog with 
renewed strength. Across ravines, up and down steep 
slopes, through rocky defiles and over ways precarious to 
the feet. Lark led on, but he gained fast in the lead and 
was soon out of hearing. 

Jim had come to the ledge which Cad had crossed and, 
exhausted, he sat down on a boulder for a brief rest 
and began to ponder with care-wrung face. Before long 
came a" long-drawn howl which he knew to be the dismal 
cry of the collie of the highlands at the end of a quest 
disclosing tragedy. Remembering his parting injunction 
to Ted, he took the gun slung from his shoulder and fired 
three successive volleys, the shots reverbrating in the hills. 
If the boy heard he would come. With new and desperate 


156 


THE BARON OF THE BARKENS 


strength he took up the trail. Strange thoughts passed 
through his mind in kaleidoscopic turns. At the thought 
of the worst his throat tightened. His pal! surely, he 
felt, nothing had invoked God’s wrath on the mirth-loving 
boy, whose gifts only mature years would bring to fruition. 
Then his lips parted, yielded to the inner tide, and he 
prayed: “0, God, the Creator and Guilding Spirit in the 
wisdom of Thy perfect and wondrous plan of which the 
wisest can but surmise, spare this boy at this time that 
he may yet do the work in life that Thou didst forecast 
him to fulfill when Thou didst bestow on him many tal¬ 
ents for Thy purpose. And if he has willfully buried 
talent, I beseech Thee, Father, grant him yet another 
chance to fulfill Thy pleasure in a longer, useful life. 
Now if my weak prayer is gone amiss and he be early 
called to account for his stewardship, then, Lord, I im¬ 
plore Thee, to have compassion on his soul”—this just as 
he reached the verge of the rocky pit and gazed below. 
“Great heaven!” 

Cad’s form had not moved from the sitting posture. 
His body still rested against the butressed stones in the 
wall of the cavity; his head was thrown back, the eyes 
wide and fixed in their stare. The dog, standing on his 
hind feet with forepaws over the sleeper’s shoulders, on 
Snowdon’s approach uttered a doleful wail of brute misery. 

Resolute courage swept away Snowdon’s grief and featf 
as he dropped into the hole. “Down, Lark, old fellow!” 
he commanded. The dog instantly obeyed with a piteous 
whine that implored help. As Jim grasped the seemingly 
lifeless form by the shoulders and lifted Cad to his feet, 
he noticed how limp the body was. The bruise on the 
forehead told the story. Holding him up with one arm, 
he began to rub his face vigorously with snow and soon 
was rewarded by a faint twitching of the muscles. Ffom 
off in the woods now came a sharp whistle. It was the boy 
seeking a guiding sound to the place. Jim shrilled a 
piercing return which must have stirred Cad’s senses for 
his limbs gave a perceptible start at the noise. Jim’s joy 
at this proof of returning consciousness knew no bounds. 

Down to the rim of the hole of trouble, wallowed Ted 


JAMES MAKES TWO DISCOVERIES 157 


Atwater. “Holy poker!” he cried, tumbling in. “Is the 
poor gink gone?'’ Tears began to roll down his cheeks. 
“You won't ’dopt me if he is, an’ I can’t staiT guard at 
the well then.” 

“Don’t stop to worry about that now, Ted. Just help 
get him up out of here.” But Snowdon could not 
repress a smile at the lad, clad now in his own overcoat 
and top-boots which somewhat encumbered his movements. 
“Warm, Ted, and dry?” 

“I’d think I was in heaven if I wasn’t in this hole; 
and Mr. Cad—” was Ted’s exultant answer as he caught 
hold of Cad’s legs to lift him. 

Cad was now gasping for breath and the dog was 
bounding around and barking from joy. Jim, half way 
up to the top with his burden, now paused for rest, hold¬ 
ing to a root for support. “Get to the top, Ted, and 
pull somewhere as we come up,” he commanded. 

“G—d, but you’re stouter’n a bull elephant!” exclaimed 
the boy. 

“Won’t adopt boys that swear,” cautioned Jim, heaving 
to for the last raise. “Catch hold of that bush with one 
hand and lend me the other.” 

“Hell of a hole, wasn’t it, for a man to fall into?” 

“Yes, but your ornaments of speech are badly chosen, 
my boy. Pull off your overcoat and lay it on the snow 
that I may put him down. I’ll give you the one I have 
on.” 

“Bees—buzzing—” murmured Cad faintly as Jim was 
laying him down on the coat. 

“He got a crack right on the bean that fixed him,” 
said Ted. 

“Water—falling—” faintly continued Cad as he strug¬ 
gled to rise. 

“Hike for the cabin, now, Ted. Build up a big fire 
and put all the water to heat that you can get on. On 
the top shelf in the cabinet, you will find a bottle of 
camphor. Bring that back to me. By the way you 
came, how far do you reckon we are from the cabin? I 
will have to carry Cad and you meet me as soon as pos¬ 
sible.” 


158 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


“God—Godfrey I mean, much as a mile I should think. 
You never can lubber him in alone.’’ 

“Hike now before you swear again”—and the boy was 
off. 

“It snowed, didn’t it?” was Cad’s first coherent speech. 
Slowly he came out of oblivion, strangely bewildered as 
he continued to thrash around on the coat in attempts 
to rise. 

“Lie still, Cad, till I get full steam up. Got to move 
you pretty soon or you’ll freeze. Growing colder. Stop, 
Lark!”—to the dog that would fawn over his master 
despite all Jim’s efforts to keep him brushed aside. 

Cad reached out for the dog till his arm encircled his 
neck. “Dear old Lark, you may lick me. How—where— 
when— ?” 

“He saved your life. Cad—he and the crows/’ 

Cad grew thoughtful as he hugged the dog. “Queer 
sights and sounds, Jim, go shooting and thumping through 
my head. Stinging pains. Where are we?” 

“Out here in the woods. You got snowbound coming 
back from Nubbin Ridge; got into a hole and got your 
head bumped falling in. Lark and I found you. Now, 
I’ll get you onto my back and you ride into camp.” 

“Nope! Don’t propose to risk myself on the back of 
such a fractious steed. I’ll die right out here in the bush 
before I’ll go back mounted.’” 

Jim grasped him in his arms. Cad struggled but 
Snowdon held him as if he were a kitten and started. 

“You’re leavin’ your overcoat on the ground,” remon¬ 
strated Cad, resigning himself helplessly to the manner 
of travel. 

“Our adopted son will come back for that.” 

“Who?” 

“Ted Atwater. Followed you home. I sent him to the 
cabin.” 

“Now that accounts for the birds and the laughing 
that I heard down where the waters meet.” 

“Another biff on your cranium would set you to hearing 
harps.” 


JAMES MAKES TWO DISCOVERIES 159 


"Honest, Jim. Wait till you hear that kid. He’s a 
wonder.” 

“He's a little de’il. Wants to be grafted onto the Bar¬ 
rens. Ilow could I live with a pair when one is more 
than I can carry?” 

“Tired, Jim?” 

“Tired! Who wouldn’t be tired packin’ a big elephant 
like you over the hills? If you’d ride on my back I could 
travel easier.” 

“You might kick up.” 

“Down you go till I rest. Then j^ou’ll try the saddle, 
old man.” 

Whereupon Jim kicked the snow from a log and seated 
him. What’s the bird?” he said, pointing to a bush 
just in front of him. 

There, perched on a limb as if unconscious of their 
approach, sat an owlet scarce larger than a robin, the 
pigmy of the strix family. Wall-eyed, the bird was look¬ 
ing straight ahead past Cadmus, much the same as if he 
were not there. The round, cat-like head was drawn 
down among the feathers. 

“Frozen stiff,” said Jim as he moved cautiously up to it. 
After regarding the apparently lifeless fixture a moment, 
he reached and broke a slender twig. This he slowty 
poked toward the creature’s eye and when seemingly the 
stick was near enough to touch the eye-ball, away darted 
the bird. 

“Hever moved an eye,” said Cad. 

“Owls can't move their eyes,” returned Jim, more 
versed in ornithology. “Have to move the whole head 
to get a change of vision.” 

“I swear, I believe my head is growing so ca’m now 
I can be trusted to walk into camp with a crafty guide 
to steer me clear of holes and rocks. Here goes.” 

He rose like one, tipsy. Jim caught him in time to save 
him from falling and it was slow progress they made, 
Cad reeling and tottering, Jim with difficulty steadying 
him and trying to keep him in the tracks made by Ted. 
The trail zig-zagged but fortunately the way was not 
steep. For Cad, it was arduous. After a short distance 


160 THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 

had been covered, Jim leaned him up against a tree to 
rest. 

“I think from this day on, Ell always be insane/' he 
said. “My head spins round like the bull-wheels in the 
derrick when they drop the tools. Hark! ’Tis the lark! 
There I told you how queerly I see and hear; A lark 
singing on the Barrens in winter time! Go crazy, Jim, 
and hear the bird pour it out just as he does when flitting 
about on bush and flower on a dewy June morning F > 

“I, too, am mad, for I hear the meadow lark as he 
poises over the moors.” 

Jim Snowdon stood spellbound while the music flooded 
the dreary woodland. 

“Ha! ha! Jim,” laughed Cad. “’Tis not madness! 
What you hear wells up from the throat of Ted Atwater. 
He’s a budding genius. I heard the same, I tell you, 
down in the valley. I know now the boy was the cock 
sparrow who was furnishing the trills. Ought to have 
heard the vaudeville stunt he pulled off at the school- 
house this morning. Wow, but he did scorch Miss Ara¬ 
bella !”—then he caught himself. He felt his recital 
might not lend true colors to the face. Snowdon 
might see it only as a piece of impudence. He deemed 
it wiser to let Ted worm his way into James’ affections, 
unassisted. 

“Wonder what’s all this adoption stuff the young bar¬ 
barian’s got in his head? Where does he live, who are 
his parents, do you happen to know?” James stopped 
short for the bird-song had turned into the twitterings of 
the bob-o-link, so natural that they half expected to see 
the saucy songster merrily swinging on a weed by ft 
pathway through the meadows. 

“Bob-o-link, bob-o-link, 

Spink, spank, spink. 

Don’t double trouble 
Chee! chee! chee!” 

<r Well, I’ll be—’tis a world full of surprises, and sur¬ 
prises surprise most in unfrequented places,” James was 


JAMES MAKES TWO DISCOVERIES 161 


saying when the warbler rounded a clump of scrub-oak. 
A snowy coat of leaves still clinging to the forsaken 
boughs hid them till Ted was fairly upon them. 

“Ell be dashed to thunder !” exclaimed the boy, stopping 
dead in his tracks with disappointment. He had hoped 
to keep his trick a secret and keep the pair guessing. He 
expected to find them where he had left them. 

“You’ve a fortune in that bird-whistle of yours/’ said 
James, reaching for the camphor bottle to bathe Cad’s 
head. 

They had reached Hermit Cabin, much exhausted, just 
as the stars were coming out. Across the bed lay Cad 
somewhat stupefied but free from pain, for Jim had bathed 
his head and applied such ameliorating balms as the store 
afforded, proving himself a fine emergency nurse in 
a dearth of proper supplies. In his chair before the fire, 
he was now wearily waiting for the coffee to boil and 
the ham to fry, the savory odors making Ted hungrier 
every minute that he waited. The boy was lying on the 
floor by the chimney caressing the dog when he suddenly 
ceased and anxiously looked up at his host. 

“You bucks goin’ to ’dopt me into' this happy fam’ly?” 

Snowdon looked aloft with a wooden face. To augment 
the force at the spring with juveniles was quite foreign 
to his notion. He viewed the idea as only a passing fancy 
of the boy. 

“Who says I can adopt you?” 

“Dad -wants to clear the way so’s he can marry the 
Widow Snugg. She’s a rich old hen on the market and 
he wants to git into a feathered nest, see? He don’t care 
where I go jest so’s I go, see?” Here the boy rose and 
seated himself on a chair beside Jim. “Ain’t you got 
somethin’ I can do so’s I can stay with you ?” 

“Tell me something of your family circle,” said Jim 
leaning forward, the while turning the meat. “That is, 
how many of you are there and something about your¬ 
self before I take you in.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t add over one to your number,” ex¬ 
plained Ted eagerly. “Besides, I can sleep any old place, 


162 


THE BAR OX OF THE BARREXS 


in a corner on a shakedown if you folks are ‘fraid of ray 
famTy circle.” 

“Don’t dwell on circle,” Jim began, but Ted cut him 
off, brightening as if he had caught the right idea at last. 

“Oh sure—fam’ly circle. Xow, I know what you mean. 
Yes, we did have one at our house yisterd'y. Dad missed 
his chewin’. Mell—he’s my brother, older’n me—was by 
the stove warmin’ his feet when the gov’ner made the 
discovTy ’twas gone ’n’ without warnin’ he locks the door 
tellin’ Mell they would have to drill for a spell. Mell 
he’s sharp and he springs up out o’ reach. The gov’nor 
reaches for a strap on the wall an’ the race was on. Ought 
to seen Mjell,” he laughed. “MelFs white hair was stickin’ 
straight back as they cut fam’ly circles round that room. 
When their faces begun to git red, Mell cut the circle in 
two by dartin’ across the room an’ upsettin’ a chair in 
Dad’s way an’ down went MfcGinty like the roof had come 
in. Then Mell grabbed his cap ’n’ mittens, unlocked the 
door ’n’ sung out ‘Good-bye, Ted, forever; I’m goin’, ’n’ 
I watched him out o’ the winder cross the clearin’ till he 
went into the woods. That was last night. Dad wanted 
Mell to go. But Mell will write back to me sometime. 
He’ll go out West where I’ve got two big brothers what’s 
cow-punchers. We, dad and Mell that is, was all alone, 
you see, livin’ dowm in Petrolia. Ma, she—she died, 
washin’ ”—here the little fellow was struggling to keep 
back tears as though it were a weakness—“then Dad got the 
farm fever ’n’ brought us out to live on Xubbin Ridge. 
But now he’s courtin’ the Widow Snugg and she’s got 
boys o’ her own an’ Dad told us if it wasn’t for us two 
youngsters he could marry money. So, you see, God 
hadn’t ought to a sent us down to earth, I s’pose.” 

“Don’t you worry about that, my little man,” said 
Snow T don springing up. “We’re going to eat now and 
you’re going to have a place to sleep and don’t you worry 
any more. Mr. Cad and I are going to look after you 
now.” 

Supper over, James made Cad as comfortable as pos¬ 
sible in bed for the night. Ted, with Cad’s approval, was 
put to bed with him while James, wrapped in a blanket, 


JAMES MAKES TWO DISCOVERIES 163 


chose to sleep in the deep chair before the fire-place. Lark 
on a bit of old sacking in a warm corner was equally 
well ensconced for the night, which had grown bitter 
cold. Boreas, lashing to fury the trees and cabin, growled 
down the great-throated chimney with baffled rage as the 
heavy damper forbade his entrance. The Barrens of all 
the country round was his active field of sport wherein to 
cavort and hurl his swirling clouds of snow. 

Night was still driving on with tempestuous howl when 
Jim was wakened near midnight by voices. He had 
switched off the lights and the room was quite dark. By 
slow degrees, he shook off drowsiness for the tax on nerves 
and strength that day had exhausted every fiber of his 
frame. 

“I am falling—falling—V Cad was crying out. 
“Where are you, Jim? Falling—” 

“No you ain’t, Mr. Cad,” Ted frantically assured him. 
“You are right here in bed with me ’n’ Mr. Jim V 
Lark are over there by the fire. Don’t you feel my hand? 
You can’t fall now, Mr. Cad.” 

“Big Ben is rolling down and we’ll be buried, Jim. 
Don’t you remember, Jim, I warned you not to build 
the cabin below the old monster?” 

Jim was soon sponging him over with warm water, 
after administering drops to allay the fever. The mutter- 
ings of delirium continued. 

“There goes that horn! No snow lies too deep for the 
Hillside-Mooney to be abroad. He’s the fiery-haired old 
fox that can dare the winter. Up, up, Milt Cobb, and 
illumine your window with Jack-o’-lantern to scare Jim 
Snowdon till he pays you for spiriting the demon away 
from the Barrens! (Though Snowdon was grievously 
concerned over the young man’s uncertain condition, de¬ 
ploring their remoteness from outside aid and fighting like 
a Trojan to baffle the fever, he caught at this piece of 
intelligence which seemed to flash a likely truth.) But 
remember, Uncle Malt, Jim Snowdon never scares. I 
saw him clean up a gambling joint in Tulsa when the 
policemen failed and backed out. Jim riddled that pump¬ 
kin in your window. Hear the shot, Milt? The Baron 


164 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


of the Barrens! A true American with his heart buried 
in a heather-grown kirkyard among the hills o’ Scotland. 
But- 

Is he gonna d-d-die, Mr. Jim, an’ leave us, gol darn it 
all?” burst out Ted. 

“Sh!! Keep quiet! We hope not,” cautioned Snow¬ 
don, his back to the lad, as he turned Cad’s head to bathe 
the other side. 

-—'“But there is another, pretty Jean MacCrea, and 

Jim wavers.” His voice was noticeably softer and more 
natural now. “0, Jean, that is you, standing by the 
spring,” he went on as if in a beautiful dream. “The 
day is June. You watch me with your soft blue eyes. 
But where is Jim? I fail to see him near you, yet I fear 
to come. 0, Jim, where are you in this?” 

Snowdon dropped the sponge into the basin of water. 
Like a flash the truth dawned on him. Cad Allen was 
feigning. It was one of his old tricks to discover Snow¬ 
don’s part in a love affair that now involved himself. 
The ravings were to call an answer from Jim who would 
think the truth would not be understood but would soothe 
the sufferer. Jim Snowdon stepped back purple with rage. 
His overwrought nerves were taut. His first impulse was 
to dash the whole wash-basin of water over Cad. His 
next and better one was to dash outside into the night 
and cool off. As he ran out the boy called in earnest 
after him, “Why don’t you wear a sheep-bell, MY Jim, 
to let Mr. Cad always know where you are? You are lost 
to him on the Barrens ’n’ if you was belled he’d know.” 

Snowdon slammed the door after him. Unrepentant, 
the late sufferer began to sing with a bravado he was 
far from feeling, however: 

“ ‘He’s drunk again in Indiana, 

And the streets he’ll no more roam—’ ” 

“If that’s a dyin’ song, Mr. Cad, you better sing ‘Holy 
Angels’,” pleaded Ted in tremulous voice, seating himself 
on the bed beside him. “Jim can’t stand—the—the— 
scene.” 

“Don’t know it, Ted. Can’t you help a feller out?” 

And Ted lilted his version of a requiem, the only one 
he recalled: 




JAMES MAKES TWO DISCOVERIES 165 


“ ‘Hush, my babe, lie still and slumber, 

Holy angels guard thy bed; 

'Skeets and beetles without number, 

Gently buzzin’ round thy head/ ” 

Snowdon was not immune to levity and in the laugh 
that followed outside Cad drew a breath of relief. The 
situation was saved and he had found out all he wished to 
know. 


XVI 


IN FRONT OF THE GOLDSTEIN EMPORIUM 

It was a strikingly odd family which left Hermit Spring 
to brave the deep snow down out of the hills to the lower 
country on a bleak December morning. Christmas was 
only three days away and the feeling of it was in the air. 
Snowdon held the lead, provided with snowshoes that 
Cadmus had made, the hoops of light dry hickory splints, 
the woven work of willow branches. The others fol¬ 
lowed on similar contrivances. Jim was jubilant, for 
trudging in the wake of the party was the boy of his 
keeping, looking and trusting to him for great things and 
hungry for alfection. Verily, he who would satisfy such 
longing feels the true spirit of Chrstmas. He turned 
occasionally as he strode on down the unbeaten road, wind¬ 
ing the hill, to catch a glimpse of the appreciative face, 
ever beaming at him when he looked back, and he always 
laughed until Ted asked why. 

“A cock robin in a giant’s coat and breeches, you little 
dunce,” responded Cad, giving him a tug. Cad had easily 
tired of the responsibility of his protege. “Give your 
breeches another hitch or the bottoms will look like mops 
when you promenade the streets of Comfort.” For Ted 
was in Jim’s coat and corduroy trousers, topped off with 
Cad’s fur cap and bottomed with his arctics and leggins. 
“Come, lead away, Jim. I’ve only two hours to make the 
train to Petrolia if you want me to bear that present to 
Jean. Quickstep now, you young bear of the snow-clad 
hills”—to Ted. And they were under motion again, 
laughing and jesting, the dog yelping and barking, now 
ahead, now behind, supposedly after game and wild with 
the unusual outing. 

Once down in the lowlands when they came to the 
highway they found it well beaten, the world jingling with 

166 


IN FRONT OF GOLDSTEIN EMPORIUM 167 


sleighbells, a world to them transformed after their iso¬ 
lation. They hid their snow-shoes in a hay-stack near 
the road for they could have no further use for them 
till they came tramping back. As they walked down Sun¬ 
rise Valley, they passed thrifty farmsteads, smoke curling 
from kitchen fires, the air spicy with the scent of pies, 
plum-puddings and other holiday pastry warm from the 
ovens for the Christmas feast. It was good to be among 
men once more. But people peeped out of windows, from 
behind wood-piles and around corners at them as if they 
were a remnant of the Confederacy on the march—big 
Jim swinging along, a gun over his shoulder, with the 
bearing of a general, the supple Allen at his side important 
as an aide-de-camp, and bringing up the rear an enigma 
that set them laughing—a small man in large clothes 
and by his side a very well-behaved dog that never left 
the road to investigate back doors. When they came to 
the village which was in gala array for the approaching 
festivities, their line of march became more interesting. 
Stray curs came out and set upon Lark for no other 
reason than true dog discord, giving Ted more or less 
concern, though the brawny Scot, regardless of public 
opinion, used his heavy shoe to good purpose whenever 
the scuffle became one-sided. This protection and the 
fearless attitude of the stalwart hillsman the rougher 
element of the place regarded as affrontery and they 
gathered in knots to hold council along the way. Yes, 
they had all heard of Jim Snowdon but he hadn’t struck 
oil vet to elevate him above the common crowd. “If he 

V 

kicks my dog there will be a rumpus,” ran the verdict. 
“Carrying a gun around Christmas time” was another 
charge, for they did not take into account the wilds from 
whence he came. Boys, taking pattern after their elders, 
followed, hooting and jeering at Ted on the tail end of the 
procession. 

“Are you a relative of Abraham Lincoln?” called one. 

“Yes, by G—d ’n ? I can lick—” but he did not finish. 
A snowball well aimed at his mouth cut short his boast 
and set the crowd into ecstatic yells. The act might have 
been a retribution for the oath, hut when balls began 


168 


THE BAEON OF THE BARRENS 


to be thrown promiscuously and from larger hands than 
boys’, Snowdon handed his gun to Ted and stepped quickly 
into the middle of the street where he rolled icy balls and 
drove a few of them into the menacing crowd. Cad, too, 
made quick shift at retaliation and the whole bunch of 
trouble makers soon took to their heels. The incident 
happened in front of Goldstein’s Dry Goods Store, the 
town’s emporium, and brought out the Christmas shop¬ 
pers to ascertain the cause of disturbance. Notable among 
them was Milt Cobb, and he beamed on James, proud of 
the strength of the hills, for he regarded him as now 
belonging to the Nubbin Ridge clique. When Ted caught 
sight of Milton, rocking back and forth, his hands in the 
pockets of the stuffy and antique overcoat that fell to 
his feet, the queer old cap tumbled and torn, the long 
hair and whiskers white like wool he ceased his crying, 
uncertain but that this was Santa Claus fraternizing 
with the crowd. 

“Why didn’t ye lodge a charge o’ shot in ’em, Jim?” 
crowed old Milt. “They’s a houn’ pack in this town got 
a habit o’ settin’ on us Nubbin Ridge folks when they 
ketch one of us down here alone. They’ve got their combs 
’n’ gills cut in this toorneyment, this mornin’. Didn’t 
know Jim Snowdon! haw! haw! haw!”—turning to others 
of the gazers. 

“Dat owl gang off dees town ees bound to kill my 
Christmas trade. See dees fine coat unt cap, zhenteelmen, 
made from all wool!” cried Caleb Goldstein, the proprie¬ 
tor, who had followed his customers out, fearful that he 
would lose sales by the confusion. 

At this moment there was a sudden cloud of snow in 
the street. Caleb, his glasses on the end of his beak-like 
nose, cried vehemently to his son inside, “Isaac, Isaac, 
take in de dummy for here comes Beman’s tog (dog) !” 

Ach! Gott im himmel!” screamed old Mrs. Schoenne- 
pickle clawing at Milt Cobb’s whiskers for support, for 
Beman’s dog, a huge, ugly-looking, crop-eared bull, had 
charged through the crowd after Lark, scattering and up¬ 
setting every thing in his way. 

“She’s in my whiskers!” yelled old Milt. 


IN FRONT OF GOLDSTEIN EMPORIUM 169 


“He’ll kill Lark!” screamed Ted. 

"Mein Gott! mein Gott! mein trade ish rooined! Isaac, 
Isaac, save de dummy!! Zhentlemen, zhentlemen, go 
inside unt see de all-wool goods!” shrieked Caleb. 

Mrs. Schoennepickle had fallen undignified among the 
tangled mess of dogs and men. Jim Snowdon’s hands 
were in a vise-like grip on the bull-dog’s throat, the teeth 
of which were fastened in a deadly hold on the throat 
of the collie as he lay piteously quivering. The cords of 
Snowdon’s neck stood out as his clutch tightened suffi¬ 
ciently, it would seem, to stifle the life out of a lion. It 
quickly told on the bull’s neck. Bones were heard to 
crack; then Snowdon’s hold relaxed and the dog dropped 
lax, his eyes rolled back and he lay quivering in death. 

“Manhattan shirts unt Palm Beach suits! Iffry potty 
come in unt buy!” cried Caleb above the din of excite¬ 
ment, frenzied that trade was lagging. 

“Cool in de very coolest vetter!” mocked Cad aboye 
the clamor, imitating Caleb to perfection. “Suits mittout 
von t’read of wool, fits shoost like paper on de vail—I 
vish your grantma vas here for seein’!” 

Jim rose from the body of the dog and began to wipe 
away Ted’s tears. The collie gave signs of reviving. 

“And, mindt you, a scarf-pin goes mit effry suit to¬ 
day !” yelled Caleb. 

“Limp, Caleb, it’ll help you sell socks!” recommended 
Cad above the tumult for tumult it had become. Beman, 
the butcher of florid, baggy face with puffs beneath the 
eyes, owner of the dog, had arrived and was pouring forth 
a torrent mixture of bad English and German at Snowdon 
who, cool and collected as if nothing had happened, kept 
on assuring Ted that Lark would soon be all right. 

“Feefty dollar iss de sum you pays a’ready yet for Beltz- 
nickle oder you make me snuff oder I make you snuff,” 
roared the bellicose butcher. “He vas Berta’s pet unt 
she vas mein fdeine mddchen . Coonsteeple! Coonsteeple!” 
he turned and loudly called down the street, “Coom to 
hier unt ketch dis mann vat kilt my dog.” And vener¬ 
able Jerod Snodgrass, the constable, wispy and withered, 
bent nearly double on his cane, came deliberately forward 


170 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


for news of the disturbance had reached his ears through 
a trumpet. Now he stopped to light his pipe, one eye 
on the match, the other scrutinizingly on the gathering 
in front of Goldstein’s. 

Cad turned to Snowdon and laughed as he beheld the 
limb of the law: “He recently walked a mile and a half 
in two weeks. You can make it back to the Barrens 
before he gets his pipe lit, Jim.” 

“Don’t ye fear, Jim,” interposed old Milt. “I’ll go 
yer bail if ye’re arrested. Ye’ll beat at the trial, defendin' 
yer dog hi’ ye’ve made Comfort a safe place to live in. 
I never passed Bemen’s place that that brute didn’t come 
out ’n’ smile at me, red-eyed ’n’ ready. Old Milt Cobb 
is with ye, Jim.” 

“And more are with you,” said a cultivated voice and 
one of Comfort’s best citizens stepped forward, a well- 
dressed man of at least fifty years. “That brute has been 
a menace to this town. Go and bury your dog,” turning 
to the vociferous Beman, “with all the honors due Beltz- 
nickle and you will have more friends and more custom.” 

“0, Mr. Snowdon, I so much hope that you won’t be 
apprehended and incarcerated in durance vile for the ig¬ 
noble death of a burly mastiff.” It was the alarmed voice 
of Jerushy Henshaw in her grandmother’s furs, an heir¬ 
loom, as she arrived with Riley and ascertained the cause 
of the trouble. 

“Thank you, Miss Henshaw,” said Jim smiling, the 
crowd laughing, as he turned to Allen. “Go, Cad. You’ll 
barely make your train. I won’t wait for you but take 
the kid and go back home when this blows over.” 

“Take the kid, hey?” mockingly came from out the 
crowd and a surly looking man with ill-dressed beard 
stepped to the front. “What are you doing with my boy, 
Snowdon ?” 

Ted grasped Snowdon’s hand and coat and in terror 
begged not to be delivered over to his father for he it was. 
The cringing of the boy greatly incensed the man, for 
to be dreaded in public by his own posterity was very 
humiliating. Reaching for Ted again, he demanded: 
“What are you doing here with my boy, I say?” 


IF FRONT OF GOLDSTEIN EMPORIUM 171 


“Hands off till I can answer,” warned Jim, coolly push¬ 
ing Ted behind him. “I am doing, or going to do just 
what you should be doing: buying him some comfortable 
clothes. Why don’t you do it?” he inquired in a freezing 
voice. “He is a bright little fellow and merits some 
kind of a bringing up. True, I’ve no lawful right to him 
but he came to me half-starved, half-clad with several 
scars on his back from your gad. If that precious pack¬ 
age there under your arm that you’re guarding so ten¬ 
derly, were opened, it would no doubt tell where your 
money goes instead of to your children. You don’t want 
Ted but you might wring something out of me for 
sheltering him. I see. When a father dies and leaves a 
family, the mother usually scrambles to keep them to¬ 
gether. On the other hand, if the mother is taken, then 
the father loses no time in scattering the youngsters to 
marry again. Now-” 

“Here, zhents, here I shows you de very best-made 
suspenders from de celebrated mills of Flanders—seve’ty- 
five cents to-day vat solt for one dolla’ yistaday.” It was 
Caleb again. He had returned and was standing in the door¬ 
way holding up and stretching the commodity and plead¬ 
ing for customers. “Bemen, if you can’t haul Beltznickle 
away wid dem vhere you vish to bury him mittout break¬ 
ing dem, I geef you de pair free gratis, so help me Gott!” 
And Caleb threw the suspenders at Beman’s feet. 

When Jim looked around Atwater had disappeared and 
left the boy. The crowd began to disperse. Beman slunk 
away while two boys "with the suspenders hitched to 
Beltznickle’s collar went dragging him down the street, fol¬ 
lowed by Caleb, who zealously admonished them not to 
jerk or the bet would be off. 



XVII 


THREE DREAMS 

Festive Petrolia in holiday attire!! Crowded streets, 
noisy with Christmas shoppers; equipages gay with sil¬ 
very bells, the riders warm in heavy furs; windows decked 
with wreaths of holly tied with bows of red ribbon, and 
fluted bells of red and white! In the shops stood Christmas 
trees glinting with toys, lollipops and candies, festooned 
with popcorn and tinseled stars for the children. ISTot infre¬ 
quently a Santa stood near; one, especially, with rubicund 
face, white whiskers, cap and coat was such a genuine 
replica of Milt Cobb that Cad Allen (looking for a haber¬ 
dasher of some sort) stopped to laugh and proclaimed 
aloud: “But we’ve the genuine article out on Nubbin 
Bidge.” 

“Of whom did you speak?” inquired a tremulous voice, 
suggestive of advanced age, at his elbow. 

“Milt Cobb,” he replied, turning abruptly to face a very 
elderly lady of pleasing though anxious countenance. Her 
rich attire bespoke opulent circumstances. 

“Milton Cobb is my youngest brother,” she began, “and 
Oh, how I—” 

Mr. Cadmus Allen had vanished in a trice around the 
corner, uncertain whether she wished to reprimand him for 
his pictorial adaptation of Mr. Cobb or to send greetings 
of the season. On the spur of the moment, he deemed a 
good run wiser than a poor stand. An hour later, the 
episode was entirely obliterated as he stood before a cheval 
glass regarding himself long and earnestly. And well he 
might for he was dressed a la mode for the first time in 
four months. 

Lavender shirt, collar so high it chafed him, blue tie, 
“patent leathers,” Fedora—“I look like the Prince of 
Wales, Jim will say when he gets a squint,” was his ver- 

172 


THBEE deeams 


173 


diet. In the new overcoat with black fur collar he stepped 
into the street, the “glass of fashion and the mould of 
form.” Yet his clothes irked him. He wished he were 
out of them and back in the old sweater which was in the 
package under his arm. Was anyone looking who had 
seen him go in? He felt the whole town was gazing. 

But he quickly remembered the precious parcel—too 
precious for the mails—he was to deliver to Jean MacCrea 
for Jim. Jean MacCrea! He would cross a continent to 
get another sight of her! He felt her the type for which 
men swim rivers, climb mountains, and throw themselves 
down from high places. And himself a “John Alden?” Not 
he. When the doorbell was answered he would just bow 
and say for whom the package was intended. But if only 
he could get just one glimpse of her! Perhaps she might 
answer the bell! Then he could go back to dream of her 
again in the lonely woods. He groaned and was gazing 
ruefully into a great plate glass window which held a dis¬ 
play of diaphanous mysteries, enticing as the wardrobe of 
Cleopatra, when he caught his breath and wavered. He 
caught a reflection of Jean MacCrea slowly passing the 
window. 

Jean, accompanied by Mrs. MacIntyre, was plainly feast¬ 
ing her eyes on the bright colors and filmy laces. Good 
Mrs. MacIntyre by the angle at which she held her head 
vividly manifested the fact that she regarded them as 
wanton. She felt abashed to be seen there, her sombre 
dress strongly in contrast with the gayety of fashion. 

“A’m oot o’ me sphere, Jean, coom awa’. Dinna let me 
be seen gakin’ at the nude fashions o’ a warl that’s turned 
a back tae modeesty. Nae mair is decency respecit an’ 
we’re gaen back tae the times when the coverin’ wees juist 
a few fig leaves. Coom awa.’, chiel,” Allen heard as he 
approached. 

“Beg pardon,” he said as he lightly touched Jean’s arm 
to draw her attention.” 

She turned and lifted a pair of the bluest eyes to meet 
his and his heart beat audibly. “I came from—He 
hesitated from lack of words for an errand so delicate, 


174 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


while Auntie MacIntyre gave him one riveting look, turned 
her back and slowly walked on. 

—"from Scotland,” laughed Jean coining to the rescue, 
for she rather liked the face of her captor and enjoyed his 
embarrassment. 

—"from the Barrens,” he blurted, inwardly thanking 
her for helping him out of his difficulty and putting him 
more at ease. “No, I should have said that I came to 
deliver a message and a parcel from Mr. Snowdon,” he 
corrected himself and grew serious. “My name is Allen.” 

Then Jean looked serious, likewise. “And why will he 
not come himself at Christmas time, I wonder. We in¬ 
vited and expected him. And—you—with him,” she fal¬ 
tered. “But let us move on or we will be moved by the 
ordinance,” she laughed again. “I guessed who you were,” 
she said as they started. 

He smiled and thanked her for an invitation of which 
he knew nothing previous to the time. Then he attempted 
an apology for Snowdon, telling of his own accident and 
Ted’s addition to the family, thus acquitting Jim of any 
charge of indifference. 

“Hear old Jim! Always carrying the burdens of 
others,” said Jean. 

They strolled in the direction of the station for Cad’s 
time was limited, his train leaving at the noon hour. Mrs. 
MacIntyre was a few steps (ahead. She always carried 
her head at a dignified elevation, but now it was slightly 
more elevated than usual, and when she turned it with a 
quick jerk to see if they followed, Jean knew what the 
arched brows meant. The old lady was a severe advocate 
of straight-laced decorum, and the tete-a-tete on the street 
with a stranger was sure to be followed by a parental lec¬ 
ture that evening. And it was. Mrs. MacIntyre gravely 
informed her that the young bushwhacker in question 
reminded her of a big drum, full of emptiness and sound. 
Snowdon, she contended, could have mailed his gimcrack 
and that would have saved her a mortifying march ahead 
of that “gillie.” Dear knows, if Allen had appeared at 
the house with it, he might have boarded a week before he 
left it and went. She would shield Jean from snares in 


THREE DREAMS 


175 


a land where, heavens knew, boldness stalked abroad. 
“And," she ended, when Jean could no longer endure the 
scolding and started for her room, “ye can nae mair hold 
fast the friendship o’ quick acquaintance wi’ a young man 
than ye can hold quicksilver in yeer hand.” 

But Mbther MacIntyre, the personification of propriety, 
was not the only one that evening to hold an adverse 
opinion of Jean’s intercourse with Allen. 

In the cabin at Hermit Spring, by the warmth of a 
glowing fire on the hearth, over the steaming cup of frag¬ 
rant coffee that Jim had prepared and kept waiting for 
him, Allen with sparkling eyes was relating the events of 
the trip, with slight reservations, to Jim and Ted. 

But Ted could not be still for long. He could parallel 
everything that Cad had to relate and continually inter¬ 
jected bits of his own travels that day. “Gee! If you 
could have seen Mr. Jim scatter the owl gang as we was 
cornin’ out of Comfort. He said he could lick all the 
damned rubbish in—” 

“Be still, boy. I didn’t say that,” Jim cut in. “Listen 
while Cad tells me what Jean said as they parted.” There 
was the crux. Jim was narrowly watching and listening 
to Allen at every point of the narrative, yet he, himself, 
had sent him with the present. “And she promised she 
w r ould not open the package till Christmas morning?” he 
asked. 

“Yes, you did say damn, Mr. Jim. You was hot,” Ted 
persisted. “You said it when you knocked that big duffer 
off of the steps when we come away from the store and he 
tripped you.” 

“Rub Lark’s throat again with the liniment and give 
him a bone, Ted. “Did she promise?” 

“Yes. And she told me to tell you that she had left 
the employ of Snowdon and Son; that she had another 
position and would enter upon her duties at the close 
of the holidays; that she had invited us all down for 
Christmas but”—here he paused, his questioning eyes 
meeting Jim’s which were keenly watching him lest there 
be touches of imagination intermingled with truth, 
clown from high places. And he a “John Alden?” Hot 


176 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


“I expected her to tell you all that/’ was the laconic 
reply. Then Jim waited for more to follow. 

Cad swerved and with a laugh told that she had re¬ 
ceived an invitation from the Cobbs to spend Christmas 
on Nubbin Ridge but Mrs. MacIntyre’s grim school of 
etiquette knew no such festival and that aside from the 
cherished present Jim had sent, Christmas would be with¬ 
out celebration for Jean. 

“You say Auntie had her eagle eye out for you, Cad. 
What is your impression of Jean’s guardian?” Jim asked 
it with an interest visibly deep. 

“Remember that old coon down by the creek, Mr. Jim, 
when we’s cornin’ home that offered you forty cents a 
cord to cut wood for him if you’d take part pay in dried 
apples and butternuts? Gee! but I’d like the butter¬ 
nuts !” And Ted left the dog which lay on an old coat 
by the fire in a fair state of convalescence, and put his 
arms around Jim’s neck the better to wheedle him. 

“What is my impression of old sniffy, her nose always 
in the air?” Allen deliberated. “She’s a steel-armored old 
cruiser, flying pirate colors fore and aft, decks cleared 
ready to go into action at a moment’s notice. And take it 
from me, keep out of range of her guns!” 

Snowdon looked a satisfaction he deemed unwise to 
utter. 

“Bet she hain’t any more snappy than old Mis’ Cobb. 
She tells old Milt she had a cow ‘n’ five dollars when she 
married him a dozen times a day. Over to Jerushy Hen- 
shaw’s quiltin’ she told ’em all of her settin’ out when 
she’s married; ’n’ us kids got it to school—‘coaw ’n’ five 
dollars when I married ye, ye lazy ole bum.’ Gee! I 
wish’t you’d take that butternut job, Mr. Jim,” and Jim 
got an extra hug. 

“When I get rested. I’ll get up and pop you some corn,” 
Jim offered by way of compromise, taking him on his 
knee. 

“Give the little pest a bottle and put him to bed,” 
roundly advised Allen. “How’s the dog?” 

“Mr. Jim says it was just the trainin’ for him. Next 
time he goes to town, he’ll be science,” declared the boy 


THREE DREAMS 


177 


with animation, piling over onto Cad’s knee. “But he did 
say he could lick all the damned rubbish in Comfort,” he 
stoutly averred, “an’ I’m tellin’ the truth.” 

Not a little perturbed that all his moral advice to Ted 
had seemed to “gang aglee,” Jim forced a laugh. “Young 
man, I’ll pop no corn for you if you don’t quit your tales.” 

“Must have been quite a strain gettin’ out of Comfort 
accordin’ to the kid. Raised Ned again, did they, before you 
left?” Cad inquired. 

“Oh man, it beat the Battle of Hohenlinden, the way Mr. 
Jim did clean ’em up!” cried Ted, bubbling over with 
pride at the valor of his benefactor. “You see, a bunch 
gathered at the edge of town to maul us when we come 
out. Some had barrel staves, some had wagon-wheel 
spokes and everything they could get hold of. They was 
just at the end of the big bridge as you’re leavin’ town. 
Wal, they stopped us and one said: ‘So you’re the Baron 
of the Barrens be ye? Come to town to lord it over all 
creation! We’ll teach ye that all men are born ekel. And 
when in the course of human events’—can’t think of the 
rest he said but Mr. Jim ’lowed it hadn’t ought to take a 
whole regiment to make him b’lieve in the Constitution 
and respect their flag; then he ast ’ini' if the whole town 
of Comfort was there. The big cuss Towed there was 
’nough of them collected together to make him become a 
humble citizen or bite the dust if he didn’t. 

“Then Mr. Jim Towed they did look kind of thick to go 
through ’n’ wish’t he had a cowketcher on to scoop up the 
mess when he started to clear the right of way; ’n’ before 
the words was out of his mouth, he jumped ’n’ took that 
gink right under the jaw, a biff that when he went back he 
knocked over three or four more. Then of all the whirlin’ 
’n’ tearin’ and in the mess, they was strikin’ their own men 
more’n they was hittin’ Mr. Jim ’n’ the air was jest full o’ 
barrel-staves an’ wagon-spokes an’ cussin.’ Last, Mr. Jim 
knocked one off the bridge with a club into the water, and 
give out a yell ‘Man overboard!’ Then he told me to beat 
it; ’n’ we struck out for the happy land all alive ’n’ with 
hardly a scratch. Oh, Mr. Jim’s a regular cyclone when 
he hain’t teachin’ a feller Sunday-school dope.” 


178 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


Long before he was through with his story, Jim was 
ready with the com while Cad began to sing: 

“ ‘Ev’ry time I come to town, 

The boys keep kickin’ my houn’ aroun’; 

It makes no diff’rence if he is a houn’ 

They gotta quit kickin’ my dawg aroun.’ ” 

“Cad!” Ted spoke with much impressiveness, “guess 
what Mr. Jim got me to go to school with over the 
snow! Skis! Yup, and I’m goin’ to begin again after 
the holidays. Got a little gun, too, to keep off cats an’ 
anything prowlin’ in the woods. They are over to Hen- 
shaws’. Couldn’t carry all our things an’ Riley took them 
home with him.” 

“You young fool, how are you going to walk three 
miles to that corn-cob seminary!” blurted Allen, flouting 
the idea of such a feat in winter, in such a country with 
no roads. “You never could reach there till noon.” 

“Start ’fore daylight. An’ in storms I’m to stay with 
the Henshaws. It’s arranged. Then when the oil well 
comes in’ I’m to help keep guard ’n’ make her a mystery. 
That’s another use for my gun. Oh, say, I got that rabbit 
in the trap that we chased under the brush-pile. Mr. Jim 
dressed it ’n’ hung it outside to freeze for Christmas. 
Such a feast as will be at the Barrens! Gee! It’ll be the 
greatest Christmas for me since—” and Allen’s ready sym¬ 
pathy responded to the tears in the boy’s eyes. 

“Wring out your dish-rags and fall to,” said Jim, pour¬ 
ing melted butter over the corn. “We will all be bawling 
here in a minute if everything we see and eat is to remind 
us.” 

Cad turned on him: “Think of the sore heads down in 
unhappy Comfort tonight! Think of the pain and misery 
of those dogs of war unleashed for battle with no fear 
of defeat, who thought to go about the streets boasting 
that they had laid low the mighty Baron of the Barrens 
who would no longer lord it o’er his groveling s-erfs. 
Where are they now that sought to make him kiss their 


THREE DREAMS 


179 


emblem? Woe, they are an offense to the eye! Their 
hearthstones are cold and they lie in rows in the hospital. 
Only the skill of cheerful Dr. Merriweather can prolong 
their lives to see a Christmas. ‘0, ye mothers of Dunedin, 
ye may look in vain for them—’ ” 

“Quite enough, MY Allen. I didn’t know you had 
breath in you for such a speech. Help yourself to the 
corn and after that, the last layout for the evening, 
weary as lost Bedouins, let us consecrate the night to 
sleep. I, for one, don’t wish to wake up for 1 a week.” 

“As thick as three in a bed” is an old and common 
saying metaphorically used to deride intimacy. And yet 
when it becomes literal, and put to the test then nothing 
perhaps is so thick. Yet with little Ted for the filler of the 
sandwich, in very cold weather, the trio felt none too 
crowded and slumbered very comfortably in that fashion. 
Upon that memorable night, however, the overfed and 
overtired boy fell into an uneasy sleep and began to 
thrash about and throw off covers and break into wildest 
snatches of bird notes. No sooner did the unappreciative 
Cadmus, with a threat to throw him out of bed, shake him 
into silence than he would break out into minstrelsy again. 
Jim, half asleep, lay yawning and laughing at each fresh 
outburst and Allen’s discomfiture. 

“Oh, good, nice 1 little Teddy Bear, do cut out your bed 
orgy and, by what’s left of me in the morning, I’ll journey 
unto Comfort and buy you a drum to beat with your soft 
little paws, about the only thing lacking to drive us mad.” 

This broke the restless sleeper’s chain of melody for the 
time. 

“Give ’em hell, Jim! Clear the bridge! Drive ’em into 
the river! You’re the old boy, Jim, that can knock out 
the whole bunch! There goes one of ’em overboard into 
the water!” yelled the dreamer sitting up. 

Allen gave him a punch and leaped out of bed. Snow¬ 
don’s laughter was irrepressible. Writhing he pressed his 
side with one hand and clutched a bedpost with the other. 

Cad switched on the lights, poked up the fire, then 
wrapped himself in a blanket and dropped down, dis¬ 
gusted, into one of the reclining chairs by the fireplace, 


180 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


declaring it his belief that the young imp would die of 
tremens before morning. Ted, his eyes wide open and 
glassy, took in the scene with a bewildered stare, declaim¬ 
ing, sotto voce. 

“ ‘I love it, I love it, and who shall dare 
To chide me for loving that old arm chair/ ” 

Cad gave way to a despairing groan but Jim pulled the 
dreamer down into bed. 

“Go to sleep now, Ted. You have driven Cad out and 
if you don’t stop this ribaldry, I’ll have to nil your mouth 
with pepper.” 

Then Ted began to dream afresh. 

So vividly and connectedly did Ted’s dream unfold that 
he lived and perceived as in wakeful hours. It really was 
dual life, for all that happened was as tangible to him as 
when in the state of consciousness. 

At the beginning, he found himself standing in a jungle, 
dense and dark, where tall evergreens intermingled their 
branches so thickly as to exclude the faintest ray of sun¬ 
light. In the murky fastness, the only sound that broke 
the solitude was the sighing of the pines in the soft breeze 
that moved their tops. Afraid to move, uncertain of the 
place and how he came to be there, he tried to cry out 
but a fear of wild beasts that might be prowling near, took 
him by the throat and in dumb terror he sank to the 
ground in a hopeless, helpless heap, his face upon his 
breast, and began to sob bitterly. Only for a moment he 
wept thus. He felt a presence near. Fearfully he lifted 
his head and lo! a short way off, he beheld his mother. 
No mistaking, for a golden light was shimmering down 
through the green foliage round about her. She was robed 
in white flowing garments, a radiant halo shining round 
her head and the mournful brown eyes he remembered 
so well were tenderly gazing down upon him. All fear of 
being lost in an interminable forest suddenly fled; and with 
frantic joy he leaped up, reaching forth his hands and 
striving to touch her, at the same time crying out: “Oh, 
my mother!” But the strange part was that his advance 


THREE DREAMS 


181 


brought him no nearer to her and she gave no answer 
in response to his pleading call. 

Then he began to grow afraid again and paused; his 
hopes had crumbled into nothingness and to add to other 
terrors he now felt this to be only a shadow. But instantly 
her face lighted up with a new and greater glory as she 
raised one white hand and beckoned him on. He seemed 
to have lost control of himself. His will power had utter¬ 
ly left him, and by a strange divination he sought to fol¬ 
low. At first, the way was rough and flinty to his bare 
feet; but he struggled on. And straight the airy spirit 
parted the great tree trunks from the way. Out of the 
depths into a better land they traveled, for after a time 
the forest grew thin and a mellow sunlight dispelled the 
gloom. But the heavenly vision of his mother dimmed as 
light increased, and when at last he emerged into the open 
on the banks of a wide stream, rippling over amber-flecked 
sands, she had entirely vanished and left him with a sad, 
sad heart. But joy Oh, joy! From the other shore, he 
caught the strains of dreamy music and as he yearnfully 
gazed across the waters, he was enraptured with a fair 
landscape. Close down to the water’s edge, he could see 
lush grasses and gay flowers and where the bank rose to 
the higher level above, groves of trees, like the palms he 
had seen in pictures, were dotted over a wide grassy plain. 
The inhabitants of such an enchanted country, he felt, 
must be kindly people and he longed to be there. 

But how to reach the other side was no easy matter to 
decide. If he attempted to wade, the stream, which looked 
to be shallow from where he was standing, in mid-channel 
might be deep and engulf him. There must be a ferryman 
in such a land. He w T as about to whistle when behold! 
from out the forest on the opposite side came a young 
man who walked briskly toward the shore, looking across 
as if expectant of his arrival. At the water’s edge from 
out the reeds and rushes the stranger pulled a boat very 
like a gondola; then he turned to Ted, gave a wave of the 
hand and put to sea. On, on, over the glittering ripples 
came the craft, gracefully as the white swan rides the still 
lake. In the stern stood the boatman dipping oar, and it 


182 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


seemed to take no effort to propel the boat. At last it 
grounded on the shoals near the bank. Then the gondo¬ 
lier dropped the oar and stretched his arms invitingly for 
Ted to wade the remaining distance. How cooling was the 
water to his bare and aching feet! And when he neared 
the boat, it was to behold a merry laughing fellow of com¬ 
ely face, wearing a high cap, bespangled with bells and set 
back rakishly on his head. About the shoulders hung 
loosely a red cloak of some rich texture; for the rest of his 
attire, he wore a tight-fitting suit of the stripes and hues 
of the rainbow, the only relief a ruff about the loins. 
Strangest of all, his feet were encased in thick cloth shoes 
of blue, folding down at the top, the toes long and pointed. 
To Ted, he presented a striking resemblance to a picture of 
a king’s fool that he had once seen in a story book. Yet 

the face was verv familiar—where had he seen it before? 

•/ 

He could not recall the name but undaunted he hopped 
into the prow and took a seat on a fluffy cushion, for 
surely a denizen of that blissful shore beyond could not 
do him harm. 

Uneventful was the voyage across and the landing. 
And when Ted, following behind his deliverer, ap¬ 
proached a grove not far from the stream, he was 
thrilled with the scene. The sky over this fair land was 
of a clearer, deeper blue than he had ever before beheld, 
with occasional stray cloudlets, red as the flamingo’s wing, 
floating in the distance, streamers heralding a fair day. 
Here the air, a glinting flood of sunshine, seemed lighter, 
and easier to breathe than in the land from whence he 
came. Just at the border of the forest the jester turned 
to him, his eyes lighted with mischief, and pointed to the 
branches. Not palms were they as Ted had anticipated, 
but great butternut trees with their glossy, green com¬ 
pound leaves and clusters of oity, velvet-coated nuts, turn¬ 
ing a rich autumnal brown! And, too, the trees were 
full of squirrels and fairies throwing the nuts down in 
showers! He forgot his strange appearance there and be¬ 
gan to scramble around and gather nuts; but misery, 
his pockets held but few! The jester whirled on one heel 


THREE DREAMS 


183 


till his cloak lifted in a circle, and laughed at his dis¬ 
comfiture when lo! down an avenue from among the trees, 
came strolling—yes, it was he and dressed like a baron, 
the Baron of the Barrens!—with basket and sacks, smiling 
an invitation to gather the nuts! And then he knew 
Cadmus, the jester, who began to help him rake up the 
store. Oh, joy he had found his friends in a land of 
butternuts! 

Jim awoke at a glad cry from the boy to find his arms 
about his neck in a squeeze that threatened his breath. 
“Lay over, Ted, and nip this bear-hug this minute,” he 
said, pulling Ted’s arms free and gently pushing him away. 

Cad roused at the disturbance and mumbled in his 
dream, “But Jim stands between. Yes, dear old Jim! 
What am I to do! If only I could tell.” 

To Ted, in all the years thereafter, his dream that night 
was ever vivid in memory and he regarded it as significant: 
he always believed it had been his mother’s guardian spirit 
commending him to Snowdon, a psychic phenomenon re¬ 
vealed in a vision. 

James, too, had a wonderful dream that night. Over 
the Barrens he saw oil wells everywhere among the rocks 
and every well a gusher, the fluid rising high above the 
city of derricks. No pipes, no tankage could ever hold it 
and down the hillsides ran rivers of oil till at last all the 
hollows and ravines were filled and still it rose higher and 
higher till in time nothing of the hills remained in sight 
above the rich deluge save the top of Big Ben. He had 
early taken refuge on the giant rock. As the oil rose 
slowly but steadily around the monster he felt he was 
destined to die by his riches and miserably awaited his 
fate. His eyes scanned the horizon for some other mark 
or point yet above the flood and lo! in the distance he 
beheld Uncle Milt and Aunt Ibby on the roof of their 
floating cabin, likewise awaiting destruction. But far 
from resigned was Aunt Ibby, for he fancied he heard 
her commanding Milt to take his stinkin’ oil and give her 
back the cow and five dollars that she had when she mar¬ 
ried him. At this he awoke with a sonorous laugh which 
stirred the dreamer sitting over in the chair to maudlin 


184 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


talk. Ted was next to arouse and lay partially awake, 
wondering at the fancies of the troubled lover. 

“Oh, Jean of my heart,” Cadmus rambled, “you were 
wrapped in the furs of winter but you are spring! The 
blue of the larkspur is in your eyes.” 

“ ‘Oh but me Biddy has beautiful eyes! 

Like eggs in a soap-tub now sink and now rise!’ ” 

Ted sang out sleepily, far from any intention to inter¬ 
rupt. But it stilled the dreamer. 

“I wonder if both hearts were answering today the 
world-old call of love to youth and youth?” wondered Jim. 
He lay aw T ake till the sun peered in at the cabin window. 


XVIII 


CHRISTMAS ON - NUBBIN RIDGE 

Did ever the stars spangle the dome of heaven as on 
that frosty, Christmas night? To the eyes of Nubbin 
Ridge they had never shimmered so brightly. Chores 
were slighted in order to get an early start and soon after 
the sun had dropped below the high western hills, the 
schoolhouse was packed to suffocation and still they came. 
In the judgment of the Ridge no talent could ever hope 
to excell that of their own beloved hump of earth, no 
matter who the celebrity or from whence he hailed. Sleigh- 
bells and merry voices rang through the clear air as the 
smooth runners glided over the white roads from Comfort, 
from Blue Ruin, from Jerusalem Corners, and even from 
Joppa to reach the scene of Yuletide festivities. As each 
succeeding sleigh unloaded at the door, proud hearts who 
were fortunate enough to be listed on the program beat 
almost audibly from intermingled fear and pride. After a 
time it ceased to be a crowd and became a jam. Aunt Ibby 
Cobb, who had arrived early to get an advantageous seat, 
had been forced to move along so many times that at last, 
squeezed beyond endurance—a peppery temper might have 
had something to do with it—she swooned. Friends rubbed 
her face with a snowball till the remedy exceeded the ma¬ 
lady and brought her to with a sigh of relief. When 
clamorous confusion was at the highest, Solon Cipher, the 
latest importation in the pedagogical line, called for order 
in a tremulous basso from the rostrum. 

Now Solon as he poised above the receptive audience 
presented the scholarly appearance of a sage. He was yet 
a young man despite the long, solemn face that extended 
up over the crown of his head and almost down to the 
base of the skull. His chin was sharp, an indication 
of sensitiveness and lack of resolution. As he lifted his 

185 


186 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


head with a peculiar jerk to begin his words of greeting, 
some one in the rear of the house said “weasel,” and the 
quip caught with the crowd, judging from suppressed 
laughter. Solon colored and much abashed waded into 
his chosen remarks: “Friends and fellow travelers to 
the tomb: We have congregated this evening to com¬ 
memorate once again the birth of the Babe; to rejoice 
and be exceeding glad; to give and receive. Yet do we 
this in the true thankful spirit of the Christian, ever 
mindful of the Holy Gift to a benighted world for the 
remission of sin ? You who are not within the pale of the 
church-” 

Derisive bawls of “MJe! Mb! Me!” that came from 
different quarters of the house sorely incommoded Solon’s 
oratorical flight. He paused, then attempted to drown 
further din by fairly shouting, “I should say, I 
would say, only baptism from a sinful world can place 
us where we can enjoy to the fullest measure and in the 
right sense the true spirit of a Christmas tree,”—pointing 
to a large and beautiful evergreen standing at his right, 
the boughs hanging down from the weight of pop-corn 
balls, fried-cakes in the shape of men and dogs, blue over¬ 
alls, gingham aprons, red bandannas some cheap toys and 
what not. 

“Lead us down to Hazel Fork, Professor, an’ dip us 
so we can enjoy yon tree like you feel it,” came a voice 
from the rear of the room and turned what was to have 
been an opening address into pandemonium. Solon 
subsided. There was fretting of disappointed children, 
mingled with coarse remarks and laughter of the rougher 
element, standing in the back part of the room. The 
happy event for a time seemed threatened. But night 
brings out the stars. It was at such a pitch that the 
wasp-like Widow Wiggins, the forceful Superintendent of 
the Sunday-School, blustered to the forum and in a voice 
that sounded like scouring knives, berated them for their, 
unbecoming behavior. Not a soul there, guilty or not 
guilty, but that withdrew into itself when with blazing 
eyes she shot the arrow that even the “Tnjuns” respected 
order at their gatherings; and then left the alternative 



CHRISTMAS ON NUBBIN RIDGE 


187 


to them, “git quiet or git out.'’ Accustomed to rasps 
from the Widow’s bitter tongue, they took it goodhumor- 
edly, for after all, theiPs was not rowdyism but the artless 
humor of the hills. 

“Now,” said the Widow rigidly when the order was 
passably fair, removing her sample-sales bonnet from 
Petrolia, the envy of the female persuasion, and tossing it 
onto a nearby table, “Preacher Wilder will next address 
the heathen.” Then stiffly she seated herself in state 
as the central figure of ceremonies. 

The evangelist shambled onto the platform, a weird 
preternatural figure, one of God’s accidents. He was at 
once bent and tall, like a pine blasted by lightning, and 
gaunt as a hound back from the chase; his weathered fea¬ 
tures were brown and wrinkled as a baked apple; his eyes 
were those of a seer, sunken in dark pits; iron-gray hair, 
long and stiff, stood over his head like the prickers of the 
chestnut burr. His whole form was clad in donations too 
scanty for the long wrists and shanks. 

He was considered a trifle “queer”; but whether mortal 
frailty or some occult endowment, was beyond the ken 
of man. He came and went, no one knew whither; blew 
in, frequently, with a big wind or storm, or followed in its 
wake. No lumber camp was there in several counties but 
that told tales of “Father Wilder.” These camps seemed 
to be his favorite sphere for exposition of Mosaic law, or 
for picturing horns, hoofs, darting tongue, spiked tail and 
pitchfork so vividly as to bring the most hardened “woods- 
heck” leaping to the mourners’ bench. Thus he fared 
over the hills and through the wilderness in heat and cold, 
feasting or starving as the chances might be, scourging 
and purging the unregenerate, his speech venomous as the 
needs demanded. That he had been retained when he 
came drifting through, to speak on this occasion, was due 
to the foresight and untiring efforts of Uncle Milt Cobb. 

As he stood there in silence for the large fraction of a 
minute, his head bent forward taking measure of the 
assemblage through his shaggy brows, the room grew so 
hushed that nothing could be heard but the ticking of a 
clock on the wall when a low but audible voice came from 


188 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


somewhere behind the tree. “Eve seen such before but 
only in the strongest of cages !” 

“Mr. Allen, I call you to a point of order!” snapped 
the chairman. 

Father Wilder, calloused to taunts, ignored the remark, 
but it seemed to be the thing required to swing him off. 
He thundered with velocity, “Ye time-honored corn crack¬ 
ers of Nubbin Ridge—then paused to give his saluta¬ 
tion time to stir a deep and silent response. 

“I’d hate to meet him in the woods on all fours,” 
again came from behind the tree. 

But Mrs. Wiggins did not have time to reprimand the 
heckler before the speaker bellowed out in a flat monotone, 
“In answer to the call of His children to be wflth them 
to-night and speak on the wisdom of celebratin’ the time 
of the birth of our Saviour, I have appeared to fulfill 
that mission. ‘Whom say ye that I am ?’ ” Here he drew 
up in an amazing stretch, with hands uplifted, the great 
knotty fingers spreading like grotesque fans! “I don’t 
pull in the ecclesiastical harness of any church,” he con¬ 
tinued transfixed in his gesture. “My ordination comes 
down from the Most High and not from man. With rapt 
eye do I behold signs and portents in the canopy of the 
sky when I gaze aloft. The tempest’s roar on the moun¬ 
tains to me is the voice of the Almighty speakin’ His 
decrees. Lightning playing in the storm at night hath 
no terrors bat guides me on to the next stop wdiere I chose 
to harbor and refresh.” He drew back and paused as 
though to impress them further with his greatness. 

“I have w r alked over the hills of Pennsylvany; I’ve 
crossed the Catskin (Catsldll) Mountains; I’ve dipped in 
the waters of Tallow Creek. I preached the Mosaic law 
in this settlement under the trees before there was any 
houses with winders; I’ve visited this goodly place many 
a time sence then and on the occasions when I’ve found 
the men swillin’ down hard cider, I’ve scourged them with 
whips of the Pentateuch. In speech you find me hewin’ 
right to the line. To that son of Belial, settin’ now back 
in there behind the tree pourin’ out venom, to him I 
would say no more do I mind his slack than a flea bite. 


CHRISTMAS OH NUBBIN RIDGE 


189 


He deserves chastisement by scorpions. In my mind’s eye, 
I see upon his brow the seal of the devil. O, ye people! 
cast him out from your midst if you would be pure.” 

The deafening applause that followed made the welkin 
ring with joy, Allen participating loudest and longest. 
This reconciled the speaker in the belief that his prophecy 
would be enacted later and again he resumed his theo¬ 
logical discourse. 

“How thankful we should be in these very forgitful 
times that the birth of the Saviour was to end the 
old order of sacrifice. His life lessons, His sufferin’ 
and in the end, His blood atoned for our sins, our 
indifference to our Father’s blessin’s that He bestows on 
us thankless critters. What an ordeal it would be if we 
had to go out an’ gather up stones, build an altar, cut 
the throat of a bullock or a ram and spill its blood over 
the wood on the altar then set it afire, all this to prove 
our faith and our strong will to obey. Think of the 
test of Abraham!” , 

Thereupon Father Wilder began a dramatic recital of 
the story of Abraham’s obedience. While he talked, he 
threw himself into the attitude of a raving tragedian and 
the effect was truly spell-binding to the row of boys seated 
before him at the foot of the platform. In pantomime, 
Wilder cleaned the wood for the fire; he saddled the ass 
and loaded him and started for the mountain; there he 
took the small innocent Isaac and laid him on the altar 
which he builded; then he took fire in his hand and a 
great knife and stretched forth his hand to slay Isaac. 
In answer to the cry out of heaven, he answered, “ ‘Here 
am I.’ ” Here he pretended to spy the ram in the bushes. 
During the episode of catching it, a small boy before him, 
in great relief at Isaac’s escape, his teeth chattering, stut¬ 
tered out while his eyes bulged from their sockets, “Gram- 
pap! Grampap! D-d-d-y-y-y-ye ’s’pose if that ar man 
hadn’t seen that ar buck in them ar bushes he’d a killed 
that ar boy?” 

The house now completely broke away from Father 
Wilder and he was forced to conclude his eccentric re¬ 
marks. He dropped onto the seat he had vacated with a 


190 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


thud and soon sank into oblivion for the remainder of 
the exercises, his head bent forward, dozing through the 
numbers. 

Next on the program came a few cutting remarks by 
the Widow Wiggins, herself. She advocated the view that 
a Sabbath school should be kept open only for a few weeks 
before the Holidays as that was the only time when the 
attendance was worth taking. The} r crowded in then to 
be remembered by a sack of candy on the tree, she said, 
and the indifference to things spiritual, unless a piece 
of candy was likely to be in store, yras a trial to the spirit 
of the righteous. This was the annual tirade of devoted 
Sister Wiggins and it was always well received as was the 
snoring of Uncle Lysander Hatch who annually slept 
through the session. When she had taken her last fling 
at them, she weakly announced, “Song by Messers. Hen- 
shaw and Allen,” and sat wearily down, much as if she 
carried the weight of the sins of the world upon her 
shoulders. 

The “nightingales” came from behind the tree looking 
almost blood-guilty and took positions beside the little 
organ, an octogenarian, which was the property of Jerushy 
Henshaw and at which she was elected to preside by virtue 
of ownership. 

Across the rostrum walked Vanity Fair—Jerushy! Her 
costume was a kind to take the breath. It was so sudden! 
The hobble skirt, abbreviated to audacity, daringly revealed 
the slimmest of supports. Low neck and short sleeves 
further displayed the emaciated form till she was a living 
study in anatomy. Numerous strings of beads failed ut¬ 
terly to disguise the slender neck. First and quick sight 
of her was to excite the opinion that something had fallen 
from the tree. Whether Father Wilder was dreaming, or 
whether he was half-awake for a moment and beheld her 
when he said, “Lord be merciful,” remains problematical. 
But truth it is, he relapsed thereafter into a deeper 
stupor. Jerushy had pitifully flowered out on Christmas 
Eve in the street pattern of the times, casting conservatism 
to the winds. As she seated herself at the instrument, 
the Widow Wiggins darted her head over to Minnehaha 


CHRISTMAS ON NUBBIN RIDGE 


191 


Jones sitting near her and hissed, “She looks like one o’ 
the South Sea Islanders with short grass dresses I seen 
down to Yank Robinson’s circus last May,” and as quickly 
jerked back into rigid position again. It was noised 
around afterwards that Jerushy had scandalized by dress 
the dames of Nubbin Ridge for the love of Jim Snowdon. 

Nothing short of torrential was the manner in which 
Jerushy descended on that squeaky little cottage organ. 
“She made the sparks fly,” was Milt Cobb’s version of the 
catastrophe. Cadmus was to launch out before Riley, and 
to get in on her tune was like chancing a jump when two 
are whirling a skipping rope. He pitched his voice a 
key too high under the exciting conditions and Riley, 
breaking in on a key too low, made music as weird as a 
Chinese orchestra. Then Jerushy took up the soprano. 

“Hosanna! to the Babe in the manger, 

In Bethlehem far o’er the sea,” 

a shriek to raise the rafters. 

Ungifted in dulcet sounds as were these people, they 
could not stand the strain long and when a dog outside 
gave a protesting howl, they burst into a manifestation 
that was not applause. It struck deep with Jerushy. The 
song ended ; the player lapsed into one of those dread 
fits to which she was subject, but maintained a perfect 
position on the organ stool, stark as a corpse, the wide 
glassy eyes seeing nothing, a reproach to her tormentors. 
Then followed a scramble, a general uprising of excited 
voices and Riley and Cadmus in the midst of the con¬ 
fusion, their laurels lost, bore the unfortunate woman 
behind the tree. So ended another number. 

But the Widow Wiggins was a born commander and it 
was her gallantry to bring order out of chaos and set things 
moving again with new push and vim that bordered on 
frenzy. 

“Order! Git quiet! Can’t you understand!” she shrilly 
ordered as they were sitting down in their seats again. 
“Jerushy has only got one o’ her conniption fits agin. It’s 
plain highstericks she has. She’s not all the program 


192 


THE BARON" OF THE BARRENS 


and ’tain’t likely the next one turns into wax-work. Raise 
a winder there, Solon Cipher, to let in more air,” 
while Solon made kangaroo leaps to carry out the man¬ 
date. 

Some outlander in the crowd, not sympathetic with the 
gathering, now cried out, “The next on the program will 
be a jig by Miilt Cobb.” Milton was not in the house now, 
by pre-arrangement, and did not return the repartee but a 
dark figure rose in a remote corner and silhouetted a 
massive form on the wall, menacing to the disorderly. It 
had a quick calming effect. The Baron of the Barrens ! 

Presently the entertainment was moving glibly again 
in the hands of a new cast of characters, the juveniles. 
They elicited more charity than their elders, their crude 
delivery pleasing the plain folks to the utmost. But the 
Widow Wiggins kept a prod ready for them which was 
never withheld. “Don’t speak so fast,” she was sure to 
say when the recital went too hurriedly; “Speak louder”— 
when it was low; ’’Don’t yell”—when it was loud; “Don’t 
talk through your nose”—when one emitted nasal sounds; 
“Hold up your head”—when one bashfully inclined; “Clear 
the phlegm out of your throat,”—when one spoke thickly; 
“You ain’t countin’ stars,”—when one looked at the ceil¬ 
ing; “You’ll git your candy,”—when one looked at the 
tree; “Your dress fits good ’nough behind”—when one 
turned a look that way; “Your shoes tight?”—when one 
kept stepping; “Don’t be mulish,”—when one balked a 
moment; “Don’t paw an’ dig like a horse,”—when one 
kept scraping; “Now laugh, you silly,”—this time to a 
simper. 

But the redeeming feature of the evening was Ted 
Atwater. Nimble and graceful, the active form of the 
boy, a notable contrast to those who had awkwardly sham¬ 
bled out before him, caught the house with a breathless 
hush as he appeared on the platform at the trenchant call 
of the Widow Wiggins. The sunny hair, passionate blue 
eyes and white, drawn face, not from stage-fright, but 
from an impelling sense of the sacredness of the hour, 
quite enthralled them. A suit of dark blue attested the 
critical taste of Snowdon. The change from the ragged 


CHRISTMAS ON NUBBIN RIDGE 


193 


and ill-fitting garments he was wont to wear among them 
to the grooming of a young prince, quite took them as 
meteoric. Always a favorite with his imitations, he was 
now sure to be a star illuminative in the galaxy of the 
talent of the hills. Even the exacting widow felt a treat 
was coming which would not require her steerage and she 
forsook the helm and sat down with a reassuring smile, 
the first time that she had allowed the fret-work around 
her pursed mouth to relax that evening. 

Allen now came out of seclusion bearing a violin. That 
caused another ripple of surprise. He took a position 
beside Ted and began tuning the instrument with the 
touch of an accustomed hand -while expectation rose 
higher. When ready, he drew the bow lightly across the 
strings with a dexterity that surprised even Jim, curiously 
watching from his corner. Clear and sparkling flowed a 
melody that set feet to patting on the floor. 

“Please bear in mind this is no dance,” warned the 
Widow Wiggins, irritably, as she sprang up. “I told you 
it was to be ‘The Carol of the Birds’; yes, birds as they 
sing on Christmas mornin’ in hot countries.” With that 
she subsided, but Allen had bowed on, deaf to her inquiet¬ 
ude. The feet were still. 

Ted began to whistle. Carol of the birds! Did the 
soul of the human warbler transmigrate into a lark soar¬ 
ing on dewy wing over a meadow in the dawning as he 
poured from his lips the liquid notes of that songster, 
heralding the first advent of day? How keen were the 
eyes that were on him; how wrapt the faces as the medley 
flowed on! There were the quaverings of the bob-o-link 
as he saucily swung on a weed by the wayside; the song 
of the robin in the appletrees; the oriole’s soft whistle as 
he busily wove and hung his nest in the maples down the 
lane; the bell-toll call of the hermit thrush in the wild- 
wood. They were carried back to springtime; nay, some 
of them in fancy roved sunnier climes and wondered if 
the birds were really more joyous there on Christmas 
mornings as it had been told to them. 

When the sweet minstrelsy ended, so great was the won¬ 
der at the young performer that not a sound was heard as 


194 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


he left the stage with backward bows. They were silent 
in tribute. Then did the Widow rise again and lodge the 
complaint that had it been the bray of a donkey they 
would have “slapped” their hands to blisters over the 
noise it made. 0, versatile Widow! who had not yet 
learned that plaudits are not the truest appreciation. 

Next she announced the coming of Santa, Yes, they 
were to have a real live Santa Claus, the supreme hour for 
the little ones. 

A back window had been previously taken out and a 
long, steep chute built of boards had been arranged in lieu 
of a chimney. The outer end rested on high scaffolding 
reached by a ladder. 0, joy! Sleighbells outside! He 
had come with reindeer and sledge! While the Widow 
was busy lecturing them on the decorum proper for his re¬ 
ception, the moment arrived and down he came. Ah! 
biff! Stars and blazing things! Santa had not reckoned 
with the top of the window and failed to duck his head. 
Just when they were expecting a jolly bound and a merry 
caper he struck the floor in a round forlorn heap—a podgy 
Santa with long snowy whiskers, a red cap and tassel and 
all that; but he lay quite still. 

“Did some one bring a camphor bottle? shrieked the 
distressed Mrs. Wiggins, pouncing around. 

“Calamity is sure to follow calamity! Who will as¬ 
suage the grief of the Widow Cobb if he succumbs to the 
injury?” frantically cried Jerushy Henshaw as she rushed 
from her retreat and stood wringing her hands over the 
disseminator of toys, forgetting she was exposing a secret, 
the identity of Santa, which the Widow Wiggins had 
selfishly hugged to her bosom for weeks past. 

“He always owned up I had a cow’n’ five dollars when 
I married him,” whimpered Aunt Ibby to extol his virtues 
after she had raised his head, pulled off his cap and seen 
blood trickling from his hair. 

Naturally there was much excitement and a heavy pres¬ 
sure of people toward the front to ascertain the extent 
of his injuries. 

“It ’pears to be fairin’ up some,” was his reply to the 
question as to whether he were feeling better. “Swan, that 


CHRISTMAS ON NUBBIN RIDGE 


195 


was the time Ed a had my brains knocked out if I’d a 
had any/’ he said looking around at the sympathizers. 
“You see I set on a sheepskin ’n’ the boards was icy ’n’ 
I was cornin’ like split when my head struck. Wonder 
it didn’t crack it. Wal, that kind o’ knocks the toy busi¬ 
ness out o’ me for the evenin’, so guess you may’s well 
rope in somebody else. Mis’ Wiggins, to pass around the 
gewgaws.” 

Thus Milton shed his disguise with his pack; and after 
he had been made as comfortable as it was possible to be 
with a very sore head, the presents were taken from the 
tree by Cad and Riley while Mrs. Wiggins handed them 
to several small boys for distribution as she barked off 
the names: “Zach Schadd. Arth Haddock. Zebulon Bass. 
Sary Crab. Henrvette Fish. Eli Crane. Horatio Wolf. 
Mable Fox. Dan Lions. Rosette Catt. Samuel Beaver. 
Orlo Coon.” Then, after the names of the animal king¬ 
dom had been exhausted, she came to the vegetable. 
“Milt Cobb”—and to him was presented a very artistic 
Hillside-Mooney doll which tallied to a nicety with his 
description of that strange goblin, dear to his heart. 
It did not fail of recognition. 

“It’s ben done by that d-d Allen, agin,” he roared 

out and threw it at him. 

This was wicked fun for the Ridge folks and the hour 
drove on with increasing merriment. Great was the 
interest when came the call: “The Baron of the Barrens.” 
Snowdon received a bottle of petroleum with a nipple to 
imbibe it. And so it went till the time for closing ar¬ 
rived. Then the Widow rapped them to order. With no 
less asperity than marked former announcements, rather 
denouncements, she said: “We will now listen to a few 
remarks, well chosen we hope, by Mr. Allen, then con¬ 
sider ourselves dismissed pro tern. I am not informed as 
to the nature of his talk, but I assume it will be appro¬ 
priate and very much to the point. Mr. Allen-” and 

she stiffly bowed an invitation for him to take the floor. 

Cadmus ambled slowly forward, hands in his pockets, 
like a green, bashful schoolboy. Frequent rehearsals to 
the trees and rocks had failed to brace him with that 




196 


THE BAR OX OF THE BARRENS 


confidence he had anticipated. He weakened to the point 
where his limbs threatened to forsake him and let him 
down. His stored-up thoughts were as prone to scatter 
“as sparks are to fly upward/’ When he reached the stop¬ 
ping place and halted in position, thought had utterly 
deserted him. What were the first words? Could he 
recall them he might keep going. The blood rushed to 
his face. This and his hesitating attitude struck the audi¬ 
ence as intentional and they roared again, to his increas¬ 
ing discomfiture. He believed he would be forced to sit 
down and let them carry the opinion he was practicing 
a farce. When they finally became quiet and he made 
some kind of odd noise in an attempt, they howled this 
time till the edifice threatened to collapse. 

Jim Snowdon did not howl or even smile. Neither did 
the Widow Wiggins. Snowdon saw the fix the wag was in. 
Would he take advantage of the avenue of escape which the 
moment afforded and retreat, leaving the impression that 
he only intended farce. Snowdon hoped so. No? They 
stopped laughing and Allen still hung on. Presently, al¬ 
most choking, he managed to blurt out, “Ye brainless peo¬ 
ple !”—then paused at his own voice as if thunderstruck. 
He had saluted them amiss. The nightingale had piped a 
full note out of tune. “Ye brainy people!” was what 
had been set down. Now what? Would he recall his 
words, would he change them, apologize? He stood a 
forlorn hope. His color changed from red to ashen. j.ne 
Widow Wiggins spitefully threw a hymn-book at him but 
missed. In a tremulous voice of rage, old Milt Cobb 
cried out, “There now, can't that prove what Fve alius 
told ye an’ ye wouldn’t believe me that he was a slip- 
p’ry, treacherous devil?” Thereupon the crowd rose to 
a man with an ugly rumble and surged toward the plat¬ 
form. Their intellectual pride had been outraged by a 
bumptious newcomer. To the end of time, Snowdon 
could never forget the sight: Cadmus making for the 
open back window, the Widow Wiggins screaming and 
holding onto his coat, until he slipped it to get free. 

Snowdon lost no time in getting out, realizing he 
would amount to little more than a straw in the hands 
sary Crab. Henryette Fish. Eli Crane. Horatio Wolf. 


CHRISTMAS OX NUBBIN RIDGE 


197 


of the angry Ridge men once they surrounded him. He 
ran around the house in the direction Cad had taken. 
It was quite light and he could see plainly, but no Cad. 
He gave a low familiar whistle, then listened. It was 
answered in kind from the pine grove beyond the clear¬ 
ing back of the building where the horses were sheltered. 
He ran into the dark cover and listened again. Then he 
heard Cad, not far away, his voice agitated and sup¬ 
pressed, “Here, Jim. This way.” 

When they met, it was too dark in the thick growth 
to discern even the outline of each other. Not a word 
was spoken between them. They listened. The only 
sounds around them were made by the horses as they 
occasionally stamped or pawed, the bells softly jingling. 
“What of Ted?” asked Cad. James did not answer. 
Before many moments had passed, the male element came 
pouring out of the house like hornets when the nest is 
punched. Loud and hoarse were the threatening voices 
that smote the night: “Show me the pair!” “Let me 
find ’em and IT1 pulverize ’em!” “The cowards have 
skulked for the Barrens; we’ll ketch ’em some day.” At 
this last threat that came to their ears, James turned 
to go back but Cad caught him by the arm and pulled 
him after him, their way home leading on through the 
grove where the trail soon dropped down the steep hill¬ 
side leading to Hazel Fork. 

When they were far down the path toward the brook 
and the hoots and jeers behind them had nearly died 
away, Cadmus, in the lead, stopped beside a rock, then 
turned and faced Snowdon. The bushes around them 
were thin and the snow made it light enough for Snow¬ 
don to see plainly the face of his luckless friend. His 
disheveled hair, his paleness, his plucked form, made him 
look like a subject who had broken jail or, nearer, a 
madman who had escaped from an asylum. His eyes 
like burnt holes in a sheet were upon Jim, expecting some 
expression of censure. He had not erred from choice 
but he did not know that Snowdon was aware of it. His 
main concern was that he had brought down an avalanche 


198 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


upon the head of the innocent James who had ever 
sought to guide his feet from pitfalls. 

Snowdon was not a man given to excessive levity. 
Now, however, the sight of that rueful countenance and 
the memory of those wasted rehearsals were too much 
for him. To the astonishment of Cad he burst not into 
reproach but into peals of laughter. And he continued 
to be seized by spasms of mirth till he heard Ted’s voice 
calling to them in fright from far up the hillside. 

“Answer the poor kid, Cad,” gasped Jim, then went 
off into a fresh fit of laughter. 

When the frightened lad had overtaken them, he 
breathlessly managed to pant out, “Oh, Mr. Jim! Some 
of them swear they’ll pull down the shanty over our 
heads!” 

“Never fear, kiddie.” 

“It was Hannibal Hayhow,” continued Ted, fearfully. 

“We’ll pacify Hannibal,” Jim answered, reassuringly. 
“Now lead the line of march, chief speaker of the even¬ 
ing”—to Cadmus. “Come on, Ted. Nearly three miles 
of weary travel before we reach our haven of rest where 
we’ll lay us down in fresh-earned laurels and to pleasant 
dreams.” 

“Riley don’t believe Cad was in earnest,” continued 
Ted innocently as they walked along. 

“He was frightfully stage-struck,” answered Jim. “The 
upshot over it won’t amount to a hill of ants. Cadmus 
is of the variety that must learn the lessons of life by 
knocks and thumps. Take heed, Ted.” 

“ ’Tis an awful mess and country wide,” ventured Cad¬ 
mus, crestfallen. 

“The whole country will be laughing. Nubbin Ridge 
is a small spot,” added James in way of condolence. 
“Their rage will soon spend itself.” 

Up hill, down hill, they dragged their weary legs; but 
James would occasionally burst out laughing and Cad 
would set his lips grimly. When at last they reached 
the cabin door, fatigued as the Russian Bear at the end 
of a Hindenburg chase, James drew a deep breath and 
said: “It was worth it” 


XIX 


THE MYSTERIOUS CARD 

On Christmas morning, the blue eyes of Jean Mac- 
Crea opened drowsily to find already a flood of sunlight 
upon the floor. The gas burning in the small heater had 
been lighted for some time for the room was warm. 

“Dear auld Mother MacIntyre, pussy-footing in again 
not to disturb me,” she mentally said as she rose and 
began dressing. “She’s a jewel! Not even my own 
mother could take better care of me. Would an own 
mother warn me that all young men are false?” At this 
she naively smiled. “It cannot be true, surely. Oh, 
that reminds me, I have a present from one, from dear 
old Jim, of course, the package to be opened this morn¬ 
ing.” And with that she crossed the floor to the chif¬ 
fonier where it lay on the top. She opened it to find a 
small box lined with pink satin on which lay a very 
dainty gold necklace with a small heart locket. It 
was just what she had coveted and her eyes danced as it 
lay glistening in the palm of her hand. How delicate it 
looked! Then she must see the pretty presentment card, 
bound with holly-spray and berries, from Jim of course. 
She kissed it before she read it. Then the blood mounted 
to her cheeks in the surprise and disappointment for it 
read: 

“To lovely Jean, 

—From Cad.” 

“From Cad” and in Jim’s handwriting, no mistaking 
that! She threw it scornfully onto a stand nearby, then 
sank down into a rocking-chair and shaded her eyes with 
her hand. 

“The presumptious dolt! 'From Cad!’ Very appro¬ 
priate that name of his. He is one. He send me a 

199 


200 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


present! An absolute stranger! And to think Jim Snow¬ 
don wrote that card (fiercely she hurled it into the fire). 
Jim Snowdon. Yes, Auntie MacIntyre, I begin to be¬ 
lieve. The}' are all false. Away goes—the confidence— 
the love—I—had for Jim ” And the flood gates opened. 

After a time from below came the call, “Jean Mac¬ 
Crea! Jean MacCrea! Will ye no rise the day!” The 
voice was severe yet tender. 

Jean sprang up. Yes, she would take the hated neck¬ 
lace down and show it to Auntie. She touched her eyes 
with her handkerchief and gathered up the chain. But 
the card. She regretted having burned it. Then she 
dragged slowly down the stairs. 

Seated at the breakfast table, opposite Auntie, Jean 
held up the chain and tearfully explained. 

“There, noo, Jean MacCrea!” Auntie burst forth, hit¬ 
ting her plate with her fork after the story was con¬ 
cluded. “There, noo, Jean MacCrea! I hae little peety 
for ye! Ye walked wi’ the eel wi’oot even an eentroduc- 
tion. Ye waur ower bold an’ he thinks all bars are 
lowered. Wear the thing aboot me naik! Nae mair wad 
I waur the trinklet than a serpent coiled there. Jim 
Snowdon! An’ he wrote his card for him. Weel! Weel! 
iHe turns ye oor tae him like an auld toy a chiel is tired 
wi\ Th’ mair I see o’ men th’ beeter I like dogs I moost 
confess.” 

With that Auntie fell to buttering a cake, with and 
without sympathy, while Jean pensively gazed at her 
untouched coffee for a long time in silence, then rose 
and left the room. 

* * * * * 4s 

And Jim Snowdon wondered and sorrowed the whole 
winter through; and both he and Cadmus were non¬ 
plussed when the chain came back to Cadmus without any 
explanation. 


XX 


THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 

Jim Snowdon had seen hard winters in Scotland; but 
he was quick to yield the palm to that first dread winter 
in the northern hills of Pennsylvania after he had seen 
the fearful way Boreas cracked his whip over the wild 
and cheerless Barrens. Indeed, Boreas seemed in too 
deadly earnest with them. For miles, apparently, he 
carried snow only to pile it in billowy heaps upon the 
hills. If he and Cad shoveled out, Boreas was sure to rise 
in fury the following night, lash the cabin and dash fresh 
and higher heaps around it. They were doomed to hiber¬ 
nate so far as work was concerned. Of all things in nature 
around them, only the spring kept active. When Boreas 
sometimes wearied into sleep, it was a solace to them in 
the night-time to lie awake and hear the water rippling 
from beneath Big Ben, lying half buried in his white 
bed. Times there were when the larder had grown scant, 
and often, too, the fuel would be hard to get. This 
would cause Jim, gloomy as Hiawatha, in his wigwam 
famine pressed, to say, ‘iLefs go down to the low coun¬ 
try and pass the rest of it.” In response to the move, 
Cadmus, for Ted boarded at Henshaws’ and attended 
school, would always give his head a wary, negative shake 
for he shunned the open country since his fall, though 
Biley had succeeded fairly well in convincing the out¬ 
raged people of Nubbin Ridge that the wag had blundered 
from sheer embarrassment. So he was content to weave 
and to carve the chairs he was making and hunt and visit 
his traps when the weather suffered him to go forth, which 
was not often. 

At times, Snowdon grew seriously moody; and then 
he would upbraid Cadmus for tampering with the pack¬ 
age sent to Jean. But the manner in which Cad would 

201 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


S02 


protest his innocence, his open and troubled cast of 
countenance, his "honor brights" always baffled Snowdon 
into silence and left them both to wonder and to worry 
on. 

They seldom saw Riley; and Milt not once, the long 
winter through. However they received a special mes¬ 
sage from him that if Allen had seen fit to meet his death, 
he would waggle over and assist in helping lay out the 
remains* owing to the deep respect be had for him. This 
caused the only laughter on Cad's part in which Snowdon 
had seen him indulge since he parted with Milt at the 
Christmas tree. Ted did not often get home. When he 
came, dim had difficulty in persuading him to return 
to school. That he eclipsed Solon Cipher for bril¬ 
liancy was e\ idem to Snowdon. He also realized that the 
stream never nses higher than the source and early began 
to plan to send Ted to Petrolia the coming year. 

And so the winter dragged monotously on, Cad wish- 
ing it would rain boiling water. 

Not until late in March did the weather make any 
decided turn. One morning they awoke to find the 
atmosphere stifling warm in the cabin and to hear the 
rain pouring on the roof. Welcome rain! Spring with 
her warm breath had come in the night without warning 
and evicted roaring Boreas, giving him fast chase to his 
home hack in the far north. Impatiently she ravaged 
his work with an almost continuous rain for a whole 
week. The rills trickling down the ravines of the hill- 
sides were changed to roaring, foaming torrents which 
quickly raised the streams over their banks in the low¬ 
lands and s nt a deluge down upon the towns below. 
Even Milt Cobb's spring run was high. The under¬ 
pinning on one side of bis chicken-coop washed out and 
left the coop on a tilt. Sulphurous were the oaths 
poured out at the discovery. And Jerushy Henshaw's 
spring forgot to babble in its place and rose rampant 
around the house. 

The thaw brought Ted home with grim determination 
to remain. All the persuasive powers that Snowdon could 
call into play, failed to convince him he was not needed 


PARTING OF THE WAYS 


203 


till school closed. During the interim that they waited 
for the roads to settle or freeze up again, the unfinished 
room of the cabin was to be completed and the lad 
stoutly maintained he could be of much service in the 
work. Cad espoused his cause, so, finally, James reluct- 
antl} r yielded. Then the odd trio started work, Ted and 
Lark usually in the way, and with Riley's help the 
kitchen was soon finished. It enlarged accommodations 
wonderfully and, best of all, it made way for Ted to have 
a bed all to himself. 

The weather did not clear. April held high carnival. 
Between her occasional smiles of sunshine, she wept 
copious tears of joy. In the copses the buds swelled, the 
green ferns uncurled and the flowers poked up bright 
inquisitive heads. She early called her song birds and 
sent the wild geese honking overhead toward the far 
Canadian lakes. The earth grew water-soaked till it 
became spongy beneath the feet. Cad would impatiently 
declare every time that he was chased in by a fresh 

V V 

shower that it was high time to begin work on birch 
bark canoes. Jim chafed. No coal could be had till the 
ground dried and that would take a long time after the 
weather cleared. But they began work. Between show¬ 
ers, with pick and shovel, they dug into the steep hill¬ 
side above the derrick and leveled olf several yards of 
ground space. 

“What’s it for?’” Ted asked as he came along from 
an excursion in the woods with dog and gun and saw 
the two viewing it at its completion, well satisfied. 

“It’s the devil’s thrashing floor. Git for the cabin, 
young man, for here comes another shower,*’ Allen an¬ 
swered as he shouldered a pick and ran for the derrick. 

That was as much satisfaction as the boy ever got 
when he questioned Cadmus about it. Jim always looked 
mysterious and said, “Wait and see,” when he tried him. 
But the lad’s curiosity knew no bounds when one morn- 
ino- he ran down to the well, after the rains had abated 
and the road was passable, to find that a team and wagon 
had been up the trail during the night. Riley, the day 
before, had brought coal, and steam was up in the boiler 


204 


THE BAR OX OF THE BARRENS 


read}' to start the drill again. He expected to find this. 
But he did not expect to see a small shanty standing on 
the “devil's thrashing floor" with a narrow door facing 
the derrick, padlocked. It got there in the night, some¬ 
how, for he had left there late the evening before and 
nothing showed then. He made the discovery before he 
reached the derrick and stood looking at the newcomer, 
in deep bewilderment. 

“It’s a mushroom," volunteered Cadmus, calling from 
the derrick where he was busy getting ready to sharpen 
the drill. “Bring on that coffee and don't fall over your 
feet looking at our new neighbors." 

They had breakfasted early and the boy had been 
instructed to bring them a lunch at ten o’clock. He 
walked on with his basket, set it down on the floor and 
betook himself back toward the cabin again without a 
question—chief cook and housekeeper now that business 
was booming. When round a curve, where the bushes 
hid him from view, he stopped, looked back and com¬ 
mented, “Them two are peaches! Wonder what in Texas 
they've got in that pen? How did the bloomin' thing 
git there? If they done it, it was when I was asleep last 
night. I noticed they looked awful tired this mornin' 
but I s'posed they'd woke up in the night and had an¬ 
other fight over Jean MacCrea as usual. But where’d 
they git their boards to build it with ? Webby the 
fairies brought it. I didn't b’lieve in any of that bunk 
that Solon Cipher read to us, but mebby it’s true 
after all. Ah, fairies! Fiddlesticks! I'll know what's 
in that callaboose before a week is over but I won’t 
peach nothin’ on 'em. They've been too good to me 
to do that." With that he walked on busy with his 

•f 

thoughts, forming a plan to penetrate the house of 
mystery. 

Next morning Riley Henshaw came over with his team. 
Jim had engaged him to “log off" a field on the flat 
hill-top above Big Ben for potatoes and Ted was to cut 
the scattered bushes. As they worked, Ted failed to draw 
Riley into conversation, something unusual, for always 
before he had fraternized very freely with the boy. Ted 


PARTING OF THE WAYS 


205 


observed his unaccustomed look of perplexity, and after a 
time, to make a probe at the cause, he asked: 

“Riley, did you notice down there by the derrick when 
you come up past there this mornin 7 that shack that our 
folks has built? 77 

“Yes, Ted, I did. But how and when did they git the 
lumber? Did you see who brought it? 77 he asked, his 
brow clearing, for he felt perhaps a way had opened to 
gain news. Then he dropped his lines and sat down on 
the log he was hauling. 

“Search me, 77 said Ted, dropping down beside him. “I 
thought mebby you did. If you didn’t, then it would 
confound the Oracle of Delphi, as Solon Cipher would 
say, how that shack got there and what it’s for. 77 

“Wasn’t you aroun 7 when they built it? 77 queried Riley. 

“I’m as much in the dark about it as you are. An' 
if you didn’t bring the lumber, then I b’lieve I’ll leave 
’em, for I begin to b’lieve the cusses are hoodoos. They 
couldn’t have carried the boards from any place an 7 set it 
up in one night.” 

“ ’Tain’t so bad’s that,” responded Riley. “I seen wagon 
tracks all the way up the road ahead of me that I never 
made. An 7 it was all done night afore last, hey?”—not 
so much a question for the boy as a poser for himself. 
Then he conclusively added: “Well, whatever 7 tis, ’tain’t 
for me to know else they’d a had me haul the lumber. I 
b’lieve they was two teams come up that night by the looks 
of the tracks. They never mentioned a thing about it to 
me this mornin 7 when we was standin 7 right by it an 7 I 
alookin 7 at it while we was talkin. 7 Guess they’s a nigger 
behind the woodpile all right.” 

“I’m scared of the thing, honest I am, Riley. When 
they wouldn’t tell me what was in the coop first time I 
see it after it had lit there, I made up my mind I’d watch 
a chance when they wasn’t round and pry a board loose TT 
see. They wouldn’t know if you drove it back tight. It 
can’t be done. Last night, they had the well all lit up 
with jacks an 7 one of ’em roosted there while the other 
slept in the cabin. They took turns at it. Say, Riley, I’m 
Yraid-.” lie seated himself closer beside the man on 



206 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


the log, beseeching protection. “It has got Milt Cobb's 
Hillside-Mooney skinned forty ways. I seen Lark sniffin’ 
through the cracks round the thing an he wouldn’t do that 
’less there was somethin’ live in there. Once I’m sure I 
heard a moan come out of it. They’ve got some one in 
there, I’m sure. Wish’t I could go home with you, Riley.” 

“Don’t they say a word to you about it ?” cross-questioned 
Riley. 

“When I ast Cad agin this mornin’ what ’twas, he told 
me it was the death house an’ not go foolin’ round it. J im 
don’t say anything.” 

Riley caught an idea and jumped up. “You stick by 
old Jim, Ted. He’s 0. K. every time. Nothing in the 
shack to hurt you, I bet. Jest don’t want you carryin’ 
clash round to the neighbors. Quit your worryin’ and 
don’t be pryin’ into things that don’t concern you an’ you 
won’t have any news for them as would injure Jim. Others 
will be tryin’ to find out what’s in there ’fore the thing’s 
over, but he don’t intend they shall. He’ll have to bees¬ 
wax cracks if he keeps old Milt Cobb’s eyes from borin’ 
through. Jim Snowdon is still as a clam but he’s sharper 
than a hook. He’s set out to defeat that old reptile in 
Petrolia and he’ll do it. He’s honest an fair, I can see, 
with them that are so with him. Woe unto them, though, 
that ever try to gouge him. He’s the type that won’t stay 
gouged long. Boy, you foller Jim Snowdon and trust him 
and you’ll wear diamonds. He thinks a heap of you.” 
Then Riley grew reflective. “Tell you somethin’, Ted. 
Shouldn’t wonder if that shack holds guns and shells. If 
oil is found there’s goin’ to be war in these hills. Well, 
git ap, Mag,”—to the horses. “We must clear Jim a tater 
patch.” 

Riley’s talk served to allay Ted’s fears. Not all of his 
incredulity fled at once, however; it had become too deep- 
seated. Trying to clear away the mists, he failed to re¬ 
member to rise when Riley spoke to the horses and so was 
jerked from the log with such celerity that it nearly dis¬ 
jointed his neck. Riley was too engaged with the lines to 
look back and see him sprawling on the ground. “Say, 
Henshaw,” he called, raising his head and alluding to 


PARTING OF THE WAYS 


207 


Riley’s speech, “you ought to go to Congress. You’ve got 
the gift.” 

At the log heap where Riley was strenuously heaving at 
the log, Ted came up and said, while he lent his strength, 
“If there’s goin’ to be war in these hills, I ain’t goin’ to 
stay an’ cook their beans for ’em to fight. I’ll light out 
while the goin’ is good.” 

When the log was in place, Riley looked at him de¬ 
li beratively and answered, “If there’s war, I’m goin’ to be 
right here and take a hand. That Hayhow is mixin’ in it 
an’ I ’low to stand with the boys. 

“They’re fightin’ between ’emselves, now,” responded 
Ted. “Wake up in the night an’ call each other a few.” 

Riley surveyed him, curiously. “What they scrappin’ 
over? Thought they was thicker, always, than three in a 
bed.” 

“Scrappin’ over Jean MjacCrea.” 

“Who the devil is Jean MacCrea?” and Henshaw’s eyes 
dilated. 

Ted swallowed hard and hesitated. “W’y she’s Jane 
MacCray. She’s a girl in Petrolia, a girl that come from 
Scotland with Jim, a girl that he’s always looked after.” 

This was a revelation. “An’ Cad wants ’er I s’pose.” 

The boy looked troubled and was silent. Then he ven¬ 
tured, “Say, Riley, I got mixed up in it, too, and I’d better 
cut sticks out o’ here ’fore they find it out. They’d kill 
me if they knew.” 

“Well, I’ll be -. How are you twisted in the 

jangle?” 

Riley sat down on a stump. In a quiet voice, but com¬ 
pelling, he had asked the question. The boy faltered. His 
face told that he was deeply troubled. “I ain’t fool ’nough 
to peach my own secrets,” at length he answered. “Solon 
Cipher drilled us on this verse: 

“ ‘Your peace of mind on this depends : 

Tell not your secret to your friends; 

For when }^our friends become your foes, 

Then all the world vour secret knows.’ 

t j 


and told us to practice it.” 



208 


THE BAR OH OF THE BARRENS 


Even Riley’s unpracticed eye detected the set and un¬ 
usual deliberation in the boy’s face. Small things interest 
small minds most, and Riley could not exist without that 
secret. And as for the girl, he was now in love with her 
himself. He left his seat and came over where the boy 
was standing and took his hand. Then in a sympathetic 
and confiding voice, he swore by all that was holy that he 
would forever keep the secret if only Ted would share it 
with him; and added, too, he was strongly of the opinion 
that he could overcome the difficulty. He squeezed Ted’s 
hand to worm himself further into his confidence. The 
boy remembered the past: Riley always had been kind 
to him. He yielded. 

“Well, Jim got a Christmas present for the girl. It 
was in a little box an’ I saw where he kep' it. I wanted 
to see the thing, so one day when they was both out, I 
opened ’er up. It was all fixed for sending, but I knew 
I could tie it up again just as I found it. It was a gold 
chain an’ locket an’ a sleek little card sayin’ who from and 
to who. I knew he was goin’ to send it to her by Cad an’ 
a thought struck me to have some fun, for there was some 
more cards where I found the box an’ I could take one 
and copy Jim’s handwritin’—I can copy writin’ as well 
as I can mock birds—makin’ it a present from Cad to 
Jean. She’d think when she opened it ’at Cad couldn’t 
write. Cad is always botherin’ me an’ this would be a 
return crack. I done the thing up again as I had found 
it an’ the mornin’ we all went to Comfort, Cad on his way 
to Petrolia to deliver the thing, I thought I’d die a laffin’ 
every step of the way. Well, I changed my tune when the 
box came back in a few days an’ struck our hill and ex¬ 
ploded. Say, you’ve seen an old pair of tomcats settin’ 
lookin’ at each other an’ yowlin’, jest wantin’ and waitin’ 
to git at each other’s eves! It grows worse all the time. 
Cad swears every time Jim breaks out, that he didn’t 
monkey with the box. But some day I b’lieve Jim will 
reach over an’ claw ’im. Cad’s afraid.” 

He got no further for at this point of the story Hen- 
shaw dropped to the ground and rolled with laughter. Ted 
looked dolefully at him, ready to burst into tears; this was 


PARTING OF THE WAYS 


209 


a friend's sympathy. Riley, observing the effect of his 
laughter, managed to say, “You little devil, you need kill¬ 
ing, but I’m going to get you out of it. If I can’t, you 
come tc Hensha.ws’.” 

“You don’t think they can send me to jail?” 

“If we were never to tell, they would have to furnish 
proof first. It’s no criminal offense anyway as the box 
was not in the mails when you got in your work. Worst 
that could happen to you, would be to lose your home. But 
quit your droopin’ over it. Come on, let’s git to work.” 

“But if they git to poundin’ each other right under my 
nose ?” 

“Take it from me, they won’t. In their case, Cad 
realizes a good run would be a mighty sight better than 
a poor stand. He’ll git out o’ Jim’s reach. Come on, 
now.” 

“But if Jim takes him in bed? Then’s when the fever 
seems to come onto him strongest,” remonstrated Ted, 
hanging back. 

“They’re too busy with the well now to scrap. Other 
excitement may be coming soon to engage their entire 
thoughts. I heard Jim say he was goin’ to Petrolia now 
in a few days. Likely he’ll straighten it all out with 
what’s-her-name when he goes. Git to work an’ you’ll 
forgit your troubles. An’ I’ll try to think up a way out 
of it. Come.” 

Despite Riley’s assurance the boy yet lingered as if 
rooted to the ground. From far down the hillside came 
the deep thud of the drill, pounding its way through earth 
and rock, down to poverty or fortune for Snowdon. For, 
when a few days before Cad had taken the chairs, his 
winter’s work, to Petrolia and sold them and turned the 
proceeds over to Jim, Ted then realized that Jim’s money 
was gone. Yet he had not closed a charitable hand to 
those around him before the last penny was spent. Not 
till the metallic ring of the bit came up as Cad hammered 
it, did Ted fully sense the spell of horror that bound him. 
The sounds of their labor smote him. He had sinned 
against those who had befriended him. True, he had not 
realized the enormity of the act at the time he playfully 


210 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


did the mischief. But it had come to him now and stood 
over him like a pall. At any time the approaching storm 
might break. Could he cloak his guilt and witness Cad 
maligned—witness the chord of friendship snapped forever 
between those two good pals? He felt he should go to 
them and clear up the mystery, removing all bitter feeling, 
but where could he rest his own case? Would they beat 
him and turn him out ? Worse than that perhaps. He had 
heard of the use of “tar and feathers” and the thought 
struck him that they might resort to that punishment. 
He dare not confess. It was settled with him then and 
there: he would leave. 

He started for the cabin like a hunted deer. Down 
through the bushes he tore, unheeding the scratches his 
face received from branches and when he stumbled and 
fell, his head hitting a stone and making an ugly bruise 
on his forehead, he did not feel the pain, but rose and 
rushed madfy on. At the door of the cabin the dog 
came running to meet him. He put Lark aside without 
a caress for the first time since his coming there to live, 
then entered the place that had welcomed him when in 
tribulation—the home that was to know him no more. A 
glance at the clock on the mantel told him it was not yet 
eleven. Time to dress and get away before either of them 
would come for dinner. After quickly washing his hands 
and face he was ready. He had brought nothing there save 
the ragged garments he wore and would carry nothing with 
him. He possessed a small amount of money that his 
kind benefactors had given him and now it burnt his hands 
as he counted it over. His next act was to snatch a piece 
of paper and a pencil from Jim’s desk and write a farewell 
note. It briefly read : 

“God bless you, Jim and Cad. I’m leaving. I can’t 
stay here any longer. I’ve wronged you. I fixed all the 
trouble you’ve had over that chain to Jean MiacCrea. In 
a few days I think you’ll hear how I done it. Well, good¬ 
bye, boys, and don’t quarrel any more and be good to Lark 
for me. 

“Your loving frien’, 

“Ted Atwater. 


PARTING OF THE WAYS 


211 


“P. S. Ast Riley about the chain and Jean. This is 
in the year of our Lord 19—jest before the well comes in. 
T. A.” 

The note he pinned on the outside of the door after 
closing it behind him. There was a suffocating quality 
in his despair as he turned away, his misery too deep for 
tears and only increased by Lark, approaching again with 
downcast head and drooping ears and coaxingly wagging 
his tail. Down on his knees, irresistibly, dropped the boy. 
He threw his arms around the dog’s neck and suffered 
him to lick his cheek: brute affection never wavers as does 
that of the human race. Tear-drops began to well up to 
his eyes despite a struggle to keep them back and he 
brokenly faltered, “Well, good-bye, Lark, old fellow. You’n 
I have hunted and romped together for the last time. We 
sure did have some good times together, you’n me. Seem’s 
if my heart would break to leave you but I got so I don’t 
deserve even a dog’s company any more. I’m glad you 
don’t know the stunt I pulled off on the boys after they 
fed me and let me sleep between ’em. I sure acted nasty. 
Now I’m goin’ for it. Don’t foiler me this time. Stay 
here an’ watch the cabin. Well, I got to light out before 
one o’ them comes.” 

After giving the dog an extra caress, he rose and started 
but the resolute look he tried to force was bitter. Turning 
the corner of the cabin, he looked back again. The dog’s 
eyes, pleading to follow as of old, sent a pang to his young 
heart, the bitterest he had felt in life since that agonizing 
time he had witnessed the closing of the coffin lid over his 
mother’s face. He was leaving. The thought came to him 
as he neared the spring that it might be wiser to remain, 
confess his folly and beg forgiveness, than to face the 
world, an outcast begging for shelter and bread? Suddenly 
there rose in his mind a vivid remembrance of that vision 
during sleep, wherein he had seen his mother and followed 
her spirit out of the wilderness and darkness to Jim. And 
now in the face of this, he had committed a great fault 
and was running away from him. The thought retarded 
his steps. But it quickly gave away again to fear. That 
forthcoming confession would reveal the many times that 


212 


THE BARON" OF THE BARREN'S 


he had sat mute while Jim reviled Cad who bore the oppro¬ 
brium silently, patiently hoping for a day to come when 
the shrouded situation would clear. For neither of the 
injured parties could screw his courage to the sticking 
point to inquire of Jean why she had sent the gift flying 
back to Allen without even an explanation. It had dropped 
hack into the camp like a bomb. Nfo, he would go on. 

Stopping at the spring, he knelt down and took 
a swallow of the sweet waters for the last time. As he 
rose, his next farewell was to Big Ben, that great and won¬ 
derful rock now crowned with the verdure of smiling spring. 
While he tarried, there came a long-drawn wail from 
Lark which sent him flying on down the path, wiping 
tears and struggling with the great lump that had risen 
in his throat and which threatened to choke him. Soon 
he came to the wagon road that led down past the well. 
He stopped. To follow this for any length, was to risk 
meeting some one coming up. Thus he chose a circuitous 
route below the road, through the growth, keeping well 
out of sight of the men at work in the derrick. As he 
was passing near them, he heard Jim call to Cad in the 
engine house that it was time to shut down. On he bound¬ 
ed through the woods, for the thought of discovery put new 
fear into him and he did not emerge again into the beaten 
track till far down the hillside. When he did, panting 
and limping, for he had fallen and hurt one of his legs, 
he wore a hunted look as he glanced back up the hill. He 
then turned and ran on down the road, distraught by self- 
inflicted sorrow. 


XXI 


WHEREIN OLD MILT PRESENTS A DUAL FACE 

“Where be ye, Jim ? Wake up, Jim. Where’s a light?” 

It was evening and dark as Tophet in the cabin. The 
voice belonged to Milt Cobb. He had forced an entrance 
some way and was falling over chairs and floundering 
around, ostensibly in quest of a match. 

“There! Guess I’ve rammed my hand down into the 
pancake batter! Yes ’n’ upset the crock!” was his next 
splutter. “Cad told me down at the well, I’d find ye in 
here asleep an’ to walk right in an’ light a light; told me 
where I’d find the matches but, hell, I’m all over batter 
now an’ I might as well look for a needle in a haymow 
as to try to find anything in here. There! I’ve upset 
somethin’ else! What a ye want to keep yer pails ’n’ 
jars settin’ round on the floor for? Hey, Jim! Wake 
up, Jim!” 

Then he listened. Xo silence was ever deeper than that 
around him. It mocked him. He became exasperated. 
“Well, be ye dead, Jim? If ye be, speak!” This last 
brought results. 

“Is that you. Milt?” came a sleepy call, a heavy voice 
from the apartment across the hall. Jim had been aroused 
from a lethargic sleep from which his; very bones ached. 

“ ’Tain’t anybody else,” was the curt reply. “An‘ I 
want to tell ye, Jim, I’m in one hell of a fix out here an’ 
dass’nt move. When ye bring out a light, ye’ll kick me 
out o’ the house, I s’pose. ’Pears like I’ve upset, split, 
’n’ smashed ev’rything ye’ve got in the cabin out here in 
the dark. If I’d a cut such a flop to home as this, Ibby 
would a sent the tea-kettle flyin’ at my head.” 

When Snowdon appeared in the doorway with a lamp 
his face wore a jaded, haggard aspect. Milt took it that 

213 


214 THE BAR OX OF THE BARRENS 

lie himself was the immediate cause of the changed ap¬ 
pearance. 

“Gawd, Jim forgive me,” he began. “I jest come up 
from Comfort and brought a lot o’ mail fer ye and Cad 
hustled me on up from the boiler house with it, thinkin’ 
there’d be somethin’ among it ye'd be in a hurry to git. 
D’ever ye see sic-h a lookin’ place as I’ve turned this 
into, Jim?” 

Jim certainly had not. There stood old Milt beside the 
table, one hand yet dripping with batter, crock upset, the 
contents spread over the top and a large amount in a thick 
puddle on the floor. Chairs were upset; in fact, most 
of the furnishings were in a state of keel upward. 

As Snowdon’s eyes widened at what appeared unbeliev¬ 
able, old Milt forecasted trouble. In a conciliatory way 
he began, “I’ll give ye five dollars to settle it.” 

“I’ll give you five dollars if you will convince me you 
did all this alone in so short a time,” was the cool reply. 

“Had ye anything else for breakfast, Jim?” Milt had 
dropped in to stay over night. 

“Potatoes.” 

Then Snowdon found his way in, deposited the lamp on 
one comer of the table and began to clean up. He had 
told a truth. There was nothing left in the cabin to eat 
save potatoes and a few crackers. While he was working 
in not any too amiable a frame of mind, the guest found 
his way without further disaster over to a wash-basin in a 
corner of the room and as he purged his guilty hands, 
ventured the remark that he had better go on home now 
after all, though he didn’t know how he was to find his 
wa} r through the woods in the dark. 

“You are not going, I hope, to let this accident alter 
your plans, Uncle Milt. We would greatly enjoy your 
society over night and at a potato breakfast, providing 
you slip out early in the morning with a shot gun and 
add a crow to the bill of fare. So, Mr. Cobb, make your¬ 
self perfectly at home as heretofore, though the accommo¬ 
dations be a bit crude with fair prospects of a famine. I’ve 
alum left in the cupboard with which to pucker the void 


MILT PRESENTS A DUAL FACE 


215 


to fit the menu. Did you say you had some mail for me?” 
inquired Jim as he finished wiping up. 

“My pockets are fairly bulgin’ with it!” exclaimed Milt. 
His face lighed up, and he commenced to fumble around 
in his pockets. 

“Wait,” said Jim. “Let’s go into the other room first. 
Then I’ll run it over. Oh, yes; I nearly forgot essentials. 
Have you had supper. Milt?” 

“No, nor don’t deserve any after upsettin’ my trough 
an’ tearin’ up my pen. Honest, Jim, I never felt so bad 
over anything sence the day I went over to Hayhows’ an’ 
slipped on an apple-pealin’ layin’ on the floor an’ set back 
down into a tub o’ butter settin’ on a bench that the ole 
womern had just finished packin’. She riz me quicker’n 
lightnin’ with a stick o’ wood—took me right over the eye 
an’ I’ll carry the scar long’s I live.” 

“I’ve nothing hut crackers now, Malt, but at least you 
won’t die of starvation while you’re eating them,” apol¬ 
ogized Jim already on his way to the buffet. “Stock of 
grub has got low. Hustling to get the well finished. But 
we’ll have to go out to-morrow for provision.” 

“Cad told me to tell ye to come down quick’s ye could. 
Thought when I left they had just struck the sand.” 

Jim placed a dish of crackers and a cup of cold coffee 
on the table. As Milt viewed the meager fare, so different 
from anticipation, he said, “I have been young and now 
am old; yet have I not seen the rightchus forsaken, nor 
his seed beggin’ bread. I hadn’t ought to have this 
much, Jim. But where’s your boy?” 

“Bun away.” x\nd Snowdon turned his head to hide his 
«/ 

sorrow. 

“That so. ’Twan’t a had idee,” returned old Milt, pass¬ 
ing upon it lightly. “Am I settin’, eatin’ my supper, on 
one of the famous chairs, that they tell me Cad made?” 
he inquired. 

“No; Cad sold ’em,” keeping his face averted. 

“Want to know. How much did they bring in?” 

“Ten dollars apiece. Sixty dollars.” But he didn’t 
explain that they had been living on the proceeds for the 


2M> THE BARON" OF THE BARRENS 

past month. “Give me the mail, Milt. IT1 read while 
you eat.” 

Milt produced it: one solitary letter and postmarked 
Petrolia, the handwriting very familiar. Snowdon’s heart 
gave a bound. To hear from Jean at last! Riley had 
told him what took Ted away and he had intended to get 
to Petrolia at the first possible moment but imperative 
work on the well held him captive at the time. Thus he 
had bided wakeful hours until he could have an opportunity 
to go and explain. And now she had sent a letter. 

“I’ll go into the other room while you munch your 
crackers,” he said, switching on the electric lights. 

“That’s right,” said Milt. “I’ll need plenty o’ light to 
survey all this spread,” and chuckled. But Jim’s ears 
were deaf to the remark for by the time it fell he had 
bounded across the alley and in the adjoining compartment 
was tearing open the missive. His heart beat like a trip 
hammer! 

“Petrolia, May 10th, 19—. 

“Mjy dearest and much misunderstood Jim: 

“For I can say this after the horrible winter I have passed. 
Oh, if only you had come to me after the gift was returned! 
I know it all now. We are holding captive one of the 
finest little boys but he is wild to be up and away. He 
has told me—well, he says just for you to inquire of Mr. 
Hen-Hen-Hen-house (I guess it is) and he will tell you 
all that happened to cause my distrust and misery. 

“Who ever saw x4untie MacIntyre laugh? No one, I 
think, until I brought her in and had her listen to Ted’s 
confession. And when he had finished and made ready to 
limp away again (he is very lame from a fall) wdiat un¬ 
expected thing did she further do but catch him round the 
neck with her arms and say, ‘Ye’ll no gae oot West tae yeer 
brither! Ye’ll ’bide richt waur ye’ve oonloaded yeer 
sin, if sin it be, till yeer weel an’ unco’ happy ance mair. 
A’m struck wi’ yeer honeesty. Gin A’ had a laddie like 
yirsel’ tae work for ance mair, me’ days wad be brighter. 
Coom, noo, tae yeer room an’ gin th’ wild men cam’ doon 
frae th’ hills in pursuit, it’s Mrs. MacIntyre an’ them for 
a fast mile. They’ll nae harm ye for a good joke, A’m 


MILT PRESENTS A DUAL FACE 


217 


thinkin’. Coom, noo/ and she led him upstairs to his 
room. And then what did she do with him but lead him 
by the hand, afternoon and evening, to the picture shows 
lest he escape from her. Truly the poor old lady has gone 
daffy over the boy. 

“What shall we do with him? Send him back? Of 
course, Ij know you will say yes. He has the whole 
neighborhood around us wild with his warbles. Jim, 
he’s a genius. Well, we will keep him right here 
till we hear from you. Don’t be in a hurry. He has told 
me that you are working almost frantically now to finish 
the well and, Jim, some good fairy whispers to me you 
are to be an oil king. Hail the day! You deserve it. 

“Lovingly, 

“Jean.” 

Before Jim had reached the end of the letter, all the deep 
shadows on his face and the tired lines had vanished. At 
the conclusion, he gave a wild leap for the door. 

“What in hell’s the matter now?” exclaimed old Milt, 
looking after him. Down the road, through the darkness he 
went, tearing like a madman, and when he bounded onto 
the derrick floor with a whoop, Cad and Riley, who were 
busy at the drill, recoiled much as if a scalping Apache had 
swooped down on them. 

“Shut down, Riley,” commanded Jim, handing Cad the 
letter. 

Henshaw rushed to throttle the engine. After every¬ 
thing had been brought to a lull and Cad had finished 
reading, Henshaw, owl-eyed, stood to watch their antics. 
Sober Jim Snowdon! What had turned his head that 
night! The pair bear-hugged, they fox-trotted, they goose- 
stepped. 

Presently, however, they slowed down, and Snowdon be¬ 
came himself again. “Go up to the cabin, Riley, and 
turn in. You will have old Milt for company but chain 
him to a bed-post when you want to sleep. Ted’s coming 
home,” was the parting and partial explanation of their 
capers. 

“Good!” ejaculated Riley for he, too, had deep affection 


218 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


for the boy. “Never fear about old M5lt. I’ll chloroform 
him,” and he swung off up the road by the aid of a flash¬ 
light, for the night was becoming black as ink. At mid¬ 
night, he would go on tour again and relieve Cad. 

When he got to the cabin, he expected to find a delecta¬ 
tion of hot cakes and steaming coffee, for which the 
house was celebrated. Jim had not posted him in regard 
to the paucity of rations after Milt had cavorted like a 
bull in a china shop. A look into the kitchen now con¬ 
vinced him he must partake of cold lunch. When he 
slammed the cupboard door upon finding empt}^ shelves 
he heard old Milt’s voice from the room across the way, 
calling for his benefit— 

“ ‘Old Mother Hubbard 
She went to the cupboard 
To git her poor dog a bone.’ ” 

Henshaw’s mind was a confusion of thoughts as he 
plunged over toward old Milt. As a wary old woodchuck, 
upon the approach of an intruder dives into his hole in 
the earth, likewise did the crafty old Milton scurry in 
among the bed covers when Riley appeared. 

“Did you have anything to eat here tonight?” was the 
menacing injunction. 

“Not in such awful large and rich portions as would 
cause dispepsy or—we’ll say gout. Don’t have an idee 
you’ll have to call Doc Merriweather afore mornin’ to 
relieve me.” 

“Wonder what it means. Men work on their stomachs,” 
mused Riley disappointedly. 

Then Milt manfully poked out his head and confessed 
the lamentable accident which had robbed them of their 
fare. 

“If I’d a been Jim I’d a had the satisfaction of rubbin’ 
your nose in the batter, anway,” avowed Riley at the con¬ 
clusion. “Them two fellers, me with ’em, workin’ ev’ry 
ounce that’s in us to finish that well by tomorrow anyway, 
an’ you come prowlin’ in here in the dark an’ git in your 
work. You goin’ to lay there an’ sleep over it be you? If 


MILT PRESENTS A DUAL FACE 


219 


they hain’t enough gumption to rout you before you do 
somethin’ else, I'll dip you in the pond in the mornin’.” 

“Jest hold yer wild hosses, Cap’n Henshavr,” irritably 
fired old Milt in return. “Leave that flash-light somers 
here by the bed where I c’n git a holt of it an’ you git 
inter bed. I’ll see to it that there’s breakfast here a 
plenty,” and he rolled over in a way which meant an end 
to further parley. 

Riley knew him to be a man of very prolific resources 
when in straits and one who would attain his ends by ways 
either fair or foul. He would not scruple to beg, borrow, 
or thieve when hunger pinched. But in this case, with 
the nearest point of aid three miles away and night over 
them, Riley was dubious. Nothing to do but trust old 
Milt for it, so he undressed and crawled into bed beside 
him. Milt was snoring loudly and peacefully when his 
own eyes closed in last remembrance. Tired, though hun¬ 
gry, he slept like a log, slept till the gray of morning 
came stealing in at the window. He would have chosen 
to sleep longer but a shout broke in upon his dreams. 

“Would you lie here in slothful slumber wrapt when 
the Baron has found oil?” It was Cad. He was bending 
over him. 

After a strenuous tussle with Morpheus, Riley succeeded 
in partially shaking off the cleaving adversary, and drows¬ 
ily answered, “What is all the oil in the world to satisfy 
a gnawing stomach? I’m so hungry I could swallow Big 
Ben. Wihere is Malt, the old Anaconda? I see he is out 
of bed.” 

“Look over there in the corner,” whispered Cad. 

There rested Milton, chief commissary of the subsistance 
department, in a reclining chair, very much asleep. In 
that recumbent position, with mouth agape toward them, 
he exhibited several scattered but very yellow, ferocious 
looking teeth. 

“If its eyes were open I wouldn’t be long in climbin’ 
a tree,” laughed Riley. “His hat’s on. He must a been 
out coonin’ in the night. But I’m so hungry, Cad, I can’t 
rise.” 

“Don’t stop to dress, Riley, but come out into the 


220 


THE BAB ON OF THE BABKENS 


kitchen. You’ll say of the good old man, ‘Oh, Milt, live 
forever!’ ” 

There it lay on the table and no mistaking, a large 
smoked ham and beside it two large loaves of fine looking 
bread. 

“And see here, Biley,” said Cad, displaying a hat half¬ 
full of pheasant’s eggs. “I’ve been watching her for some 
time. I found the nest under a turned-up root on Big 
Ben the other day. She would have layed two or three 
more before setting so I know they’re good. Oh boy, think 
of ham and eggs for breakfast? Yes, and fried potatoes, 
bread and coffee! Hurrah for Milton Cobb!” 

“Oh, Milt, live forever!” shouted Biley, making a try at 
buck and wing. 

And suffice to say the odor of that unexpected break¬ 
fast in the preparation would have whetted the appetite 
of the most over-fastidious epicurean. Slices of delicious 
home-cured ham! Pheasant eggs, fried in the gravy! In 
the skillet, brown potatoes! Milton’s heavy slumber was 
not deep enough to repell it and it brought him to the fore 
in good time. 

“Me for provider an’ you for cook, Cad, we would a 
won the favor of Cleopatry,” he said smiling that raccoon 
smile of his as he took the proffered seat at the head of 
the table. “Where’s Jim?” 

“I’ve saved the choicest for him. As soon as we take 
a wolf’s fill, Biley and I will hike to the well and relieve 
him. He’s on picket duty.” 

“Got ’er down?” cpieried Milt, shoveling ham and po¬ 
tatoes. 

“You follow Biley and me and see. And, Biley, Jim 
wants you to go home and get your car and make it to 
Petrolia on the wings of the wind. Important business. 
I’ll take him pencil and paper and you are to deliver the 
messages. Gobble fast, Milt.” 

After the meal was dispatched with a relish known only 
to woodsmen after a fast, the young men double-quicked 
down to the well with old Milt close behind, for, despite 
his years, with the shambling gait of a bear he covered 
the distance and landed even with them upon the derrick 


MILT PRESENTS A DUAL FACE 


221 


floor. Upon their precipitous arrival, Jim came out of 
the engine-house and with his characteristic composure, 
nodded a good-morning. 

“They tell me ye’ve struck it, Jim,” panted the old man, 
beginning to look around. 

“Sure he has that. Look in that pail,” cried Riley. 
A wooden bucket which stood by the casing was filled with 
amber oil of that heavy grade used for lubricating pur¬ 
poses. Oil was spattered round about and over the floor, 
evidence of a rich find. Riley and Milt were quick to ex¬ 
amine a pail of sand^pumpings which revealed a coarse 
clover-seed sand saturated with the thick wealth. Outside 
the derrick, there it lay in abundance where the sand-pump 
had been dumped. Accompanied by Cad they were flying 
around uttering excited ejaculations while Jim sat com¬ 
posedly writing. 

“W’y gosh all hemlock, Jim!” roared old Milt hopping 
everywhere. “These old worthless Barrens, Jim! To turn 
ye into—but.” He paused at an after-thought and looked 
squarely at him. 

“But! Yes, but , Milt. To turn me into trouble for a 
time at least. Come here, all of you, and stand before me,” 
he said rising. “I’ve something to impart stronger than 
requests this time,” his tones impelling with that strange 
power of command peculiar to the man. 

Promptly they lined up and Milton gave a ludicrous 
salute that set them all laughing. 

“Now,” continued Jim, “the crux of my affairs no doubt 
will soon be reached. You gentlemen are aware that my 
rights to the oil interest on the Barrens may be contested; 
more than that, the ownership of the land. In this hour, 
I need help. Before I entreat your support in my fight, 
I will go over, briefly, the facts in the case, clearing the 
mystery why I happen to be involved in a skirmish with my 
uncle in Petrolia. 

“Two brothers, not three as in the stories, back in Scot¬ 
land were early left to shift for themselves after the death 
of their parents. The brothers were James Bruce Snowdon, 
my father, and his younger brother, John. John early 
drifted to America and rose to be an enviable financier of 


222 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


much reputed wealth while my father, more plodding, suc¬ 
ceeded well as a weaver back in his own country. By shrewd¬ 
ness and thrift he became the ow r ner of many cloth mills. 
But always the letters from his brother in the New World, 
relating quick fortunes made from mines, oil and timber, 
had a great glamor for him. And this grew as the letters 
came from time to time. Wealth seemed to be his sole 
ambition. He read much of Carnegie. I was an only child 
and he longed for me to be rich wdien I grew up. After the 
death of my mother, the desire waxed stronger within him. 
He confided much of this to his brother, perhaps made 
requests, for a letter came telling of a vast tract of timber 
and oil land for sale on which my uncle held an option. 
Since he already had more prospects than he could handle 
he was whiling to let it go. My father quickly bit. The 
price w f as half a million. My father put his possessions 
on the block, sold at a depreciated value, raised the money 
and played into my uncle’s hands. 

“And then, later, I came to enter into my inheritance. 
With what pleasure did I read my deed for the Barrens, 
upon my arrival, you ask? When the purchase was 
effected, a paper, an option, w r as granted to the grantor 
(the New r ark Oil Company) that if they so desired they 
might reclaim the land within the period of ten years by 
refunding purchase money with interest. Now my uncle 
cunningly brought this all about. My father had intrusted 
him wdth power of attorney, thus he was free to act. 
He then purchased that option for a trifle. There is a 
clause in my deed which makes it subject to that option. 
The purchase money principally w r ent into my uncle’s 
hands, I am convinced, and some day I will be able to 
prove that it did. Not now, but the time is coming. 

“We quarreled, yes. I went to Oklahoma. I could not 
bring myself to tell my father of the dupe at the time. 
My uncle wrote him that I was a wayward profligate with 
a wanderlust and w T ould soon depart wflth my fortune. 
When I learned of it and my father’s grief, I began prepar¬ 
ations to return to Scotland; but before I could earn 
money sufficient for the voyage, I received a letter telling 
of his death. So ends the first chapter. 

“You have seen wdiat you have seen here this morning. 


MILT PRESENTS A DUAL FACE 


223 


Now, what will be my crafty uncle’s next move? I am 
not ready for it yet. I must make the findings.—this first 
well—a mystery until I lease the land on Nubbin Ridge, 
the only contiguous field round about that could disturb 
me. Then I’ll try for another well.” 

The color of his face was ashen. He raised his hand 
above them. His voice was husky as he said: “I swear 
you under the hatchet that 3^011 will not reveal what you 
have seen here this morning. You will help me guard 
the well. I have guns, if necessaiw, to ward off intruders. 
Your price, to be fixed by yourselves. Cad goes on guard 
now but I must increase the guards.” 

He handed Riley a bunch of letters. “Deliver these 
in Petrolia as soon as you can go home and get to Petrolia 
with } r our car. The letters will bring us help. Bring 
Ted back with you. The other guards may or may not 
come with you. Milt, you can come and go at wiil but 
remember, I bank on you ” 

He had finished. 

“I’m with ye till the stars melt!” cried Milton, smacking 
his fists to seal his fidelity. “I can draw a bead along a 
gun barrel as fine as I ever could.” 

Cad emptied his pocket-book into Riley’s hands, the 
mone} r to go for provisions. Riley spoke not a word as 
he grasped the money; the bull-dog expression of his face 
showed a determination too deep for words. He left on 
a run and was soon lost from view in the woods. Cad 
took from the house of mystery, a Winchester, then selected 
a commanding position on the hillside where he could 
scan the territory around the well for some distance. Jim, 
weary and hungry from a long period of work and vigil¬ 
ance, started for the cabin, a gun over his shoulder. Milt 
loitered around the well for some time, then skulked into 
the bushes below, as he supposed a traitor to the cause 
of Jim Snowdon, but, in truth, a friend. 

When old Milt slowly brought up at last by the zigzag 
fence at the top of the hill back of his clearing, he turned 
and his eyes swept the Barrens with a greedy triumph. All 
his married life he had carried a galling load of debt. Now, 
an opportunity loomed up over the horizon wherein ho 


224 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


might throw off the heavy burden and then sit down and 
smoke his pipe in sweet content through the westering 
days yet left to him. Was he to deliver Jim into the 
hands of the Philistines to do it? Very decidedly his 
conscience answered back in the negative, since Jim had 
made clear the purely technical claims held by the Petrolia 
clique. True, he had rallied to Jim’s ensign for the 
coming fray, but now he beheld it as a matter of fifty- 
fifty with Jim, whichever way the opposition chose to take. 

“Can’t see how it can hurt Jim if I pull old John’s 
purse-strings for a little,” was his final decision as he 
climbed over the fence and made straight for the house. 

At the door, Aunt Ibby met him with a haughty toss 
and a distant bend. “Ye’re nothin’ but a gallavantin’ old 
traitor to everybody agoin’ round. Only I had the cow ’n’ 
that five dollars that I had when I married ye, I wouldn’t 
be settin’ here under a mortgage long with ye, ye sly, 
sneakin’ old fox. Now I wonder what trick we’ll hear 
of next bein’ cut. ’Tain’t so much devilment ye carry on, 
as ’tis mean little low-down tricks. An’ people that ain’t 
tetched by it, laugh at the ones that git it. Some day 
ye’ll over-reach an’ land in jail where ye b’long. Me here 
chorin’ and hoein’ garden an’ ye prowlin’ around all night!” 

Unmindful of vituperation old Milt met her with that 
same old raccoon smile of his. Silently, he passed her 
and crossed the floor to the table whereon lay an old news¬ 
paper. This he spread, then emptied a bagging coat pocket 
of oil-sand upon it. His eyes gloated. It was even richer 
looking than he had dared to hope at the well. 

“Come here, old gal,” he cried in feverish excitement. 

- Ye’ll quit yer snarlin’ ’n’ squallin’ when ye see this, pro¬ 
vidin’ ye’ve the brains of a wood-pecker to know what it 
means. Ye’ll do a Highlan’ fling that would petrify all 
the hoochy-eoochy dancers goin’. See here!” She came 
cautiously to his side, and for good reason, for it was 
always during ruptures of domestic affairs that he would 
exploit his wildest tales. 

“Jim Snowdon has found oil!” he boomed. 

She stooped and smelled the sand. “Does have an oil 
scent,” she conceded with a ray of hope. 


I 


MJILT PRESENTS A DUAL FACE 


226 


“It’s the pure quill. I'll dance around here to-day; 
then tomorrer I'll go down to Petrolia and bring ye home 
a mortgage for a present 'nless old John Snowdon prove* 
himself a rascal agin.” 


XXII 


"watchful waiting” 

The western sun was nearing the skyline and the hill¬ 
tops of the Barrens were bathed with a mellow glow by 
the last departing rays. 

Along the road that wound up the hill to Hermit Spring, 
a car freighted to its capacity labored in the climb. At 
times it buzzed, then "chugged” and threatened to halt; 
but Riley Henshaw at the wheel maneuvered to keep it 
running. Seated beside the resolute driver was Ted At¬ 
water, the runaway, with beaming face and heart pounding 
with joy. But what to say and how to act in the presence 
of Snowdon and Allen when he met them, troubled him 
more and more as he nearer drew to his destination. He 
knew he was on the list of forgiven but he dreaded that 
scorching tongue of Cad’s! 

In the rear seat sat two stalwart men, powerful in ap¬ 
pearance. The western style of hat, tipped rakishly back, 
further attested an air of nonchalance and bravado. But 
when the car rose from the lower reaches where the purple 
shadows were verging into darkness, up to the place 
where the sunlight yet fell around them, they did not 
look like plainsmen. The fine texture of their clothing 
indicated opulence. Who were they ? They had as quickly 
sprung to view as the fearless Highlanders from every 
clump of heather on the wild moors of Scotland sprang 
to the call of Roderick Dhu. 

As they were passing through a vast expanse of wild 
bush-honeysuckles, in a perfume that intoxicated, a mother 
doe with twin fawns bounded across the road in full view, 
just ahead! The young deer, with their inherent instinct 
of fear at the presence of man, kept close to the frightened 
mother in wild graceful leaps. 

“Stop!” cried the more brawny of the strangers. 

Riley quickly brought the car to a halt. The strangers 

226 


“WATCHFUL WAITING" 


227 


leaped out as if to follow the deer, their eyes longing for 
another glimpse. 

“Ye gods! Why does Jim Snowdon mull over the half- 
million paid for these Barrens? This old despised place 
of earth is worth it! To live and breathe the fragrance 
of these hills and see such sights as this, I’d give the city 
of Hew York were it within my grasp !” 

“Guess Jim had rather have the money an’ buy a bottle 
of perfume, occasionally, an’ promenade down to the zoo 
an’ see a deer,” piped up Ted. 

The nature-lover, unmindful of the retort, stood listen¬ 
ing to the bird medley of farewell canticles to the day. 
From near and far, from everywhere, it poured till wood¬ 
land and sky seemed filled with song.” 

“Warbles at eve,” lent his companion, equally enchanted. 
“ 'Tis the lilt of the wood poets!” 

“In these hills I spend my summer, Snowdon permit¬ 
ting/ 1 declared the first. “Drive on, Mr. Hen—ah. We ? ll 
lighten the load and walk the remaining distance and drink 
of the beauties of nature by the way.” 

“Wonder what ails them fellers’ heads?” said Biley to 
Ted, skeptically, after they were well out of hearing of the 
pair. “Wonder if they would gush at the squawk of 
every goose or at the hoot of the owl? City guys togged 
up like cowpunchers, eh? Husky lookin’ pair. But I 
b’lieve they’s a reason for ’em here besides helpin’ guard 
the well. They’d been in Petrolia a week, lookin’ up 
records and the like but waitin’ Jim’s call, I gathered from 
bits of their talk over my shoulder, cornin’. Jim’s long¬ 
headed. He’s got a use for ’em. But I can’t figger why 
he unloaded his secrets to old Milt Cobb this mornin’. 
Bet old Milt don’t stop to eat or drink till he gits to 
Petrolia to disgorge himself. But surely Jim can read 
’im by this time. So if he spews anything damagin’ to 
business, w’y Jim’s to blame, that’s all.” 

Wlhen they reached the derrick, they found Jim and 
Cad waiting their coming. Eiley gave an account of his 
dilatory passengers who were soon to follow. 

With a smile, which Ted interpreted to mean that all was 
well with him, Jim squeezed his hand in welcome and got 


228 


THE BATON OF THE BARRENS 


into the car. But Cadmus feigned not to see him, while 
struggling with a smile that would not keep back as he 
took a seat beside Jim. 

“Oh, yes, I musn’t forgit to tell you about the robbery last 
night, Jim!” exclaimed Riley, highly animated, when they 
had stopped near the cabin and were unloading bundles 
of eatables. “All Nubbin Ridge was worked up to a high 
pitch this mornin’ over it when I left. Havhows missed 
a big ham out of their smoke-house and Jerushy lost two 
big loaves of bread that was took from the out-door bake- 
oven durin’ the night.” And Riley gave Jim a wink be¬ 
speaking knowledge. 

“Great guns! and to think, Riley, we’ve a lot of the 
meat left in the cabin yet.” Jim could have been knocked 
down by a feather. 

The thought of the petty crime quite staggered Snowdon 
for the moment. Not so Cadmus. He seized an ax 
for which he had come and went galloping back down 
the road to the well, his laughter reverberating in the hills 
at the thought of honest Jim eating stolen ham. Jim 
tried to collect liis thoughts. The theft of bread could 
easily be mended. But the Hayhow part of it! Hannibal 
was already an enemy and lined up with their adversaries 
against them. 

“A big steal, something worth while, is never regarded 
in the same light as a trivial theft,” he reasoned. “On a 
grand scale, the perpetrator is admired for his daring and 
sagacity. Let him steal a pin's worth and even thieves 
hold for him the most scurvy contempt. While I didn’t 
pilfer, directly, yet I partook of the rapine.” 

‘Not, perhaps, as knowingly as I did,” laughed Riley, 
who was inclined to regard the matter as a huge joke and 
not beyond complete reparation. “For I knew the old boy 
never has ham of his own at this time of year and little 
to buy with. But I was too hungry to stop and consider 
a net I guess it was the same pinch with you, Jim.” 

“Of course I can settle for the bread,—but the meat and 
the story that goes abroad! If I go to them and confess 
and settle—offer your story for evidence of my innocence— 
how does it place old MJlt ? Yet the evidence against him 


“WATCHFUL WAITING” 


229 


would be purely circumstantial and would hardly convict 
him if the parties should bring him to trial. The slippery 
old eell” 

And he, too, could not refrain from laughing. 

Eiley looked for Ted. Since his arrival, Ted had been 
too busily engaged in romping about with the dog to have 
heard anything they said. “Well, for the present, it is 
safe with us three. Old Milt will never let it out, though 
everybody on the Eidge will suspect him. But not us. A 
way may open to settle for it later.” 

“Then, agreed we do not say anything for the present. 
It is a bad time for me to make any overtures to the 
Hayhows. But I will find some way to compensate 
Jerushy.” 

“Nixie on Jerushy. That's settled. My talk helped to 
drive the old fox forth and I will shoulder my part,” 
laughed Eiley. With that he jumped into the car. “Be 
over tomorrow night,” he sang out, cheerily, as he rolled 
away. 

“Here is a letter from Jean,” Ted said rather shyly 
as he ran up to help carry in the baggage belonging to 
the strangers. He could not yet feel his premises sound 
though there had been assurances. How was he ever to look 
his friends squarely in the face again? Never, he be¬ 
lieved. Not, at least, till he proved his worth and loyalty. 
He had planned to become their abject slave on his return. 
No toil, no slings of the tongue would be too hard for him 
to bear, only to be near them. And now he was back. Jim 
noticed his lips quivering when he drew out the letter. 

“Never you mind, Buddie,” he said kindly. “Never did 
a calamity happen but what something good came of it. 
We will w r ait and see how ends the colossal joke that you 
put over on us.” 

He could not wait to be alone while he read the letter. 
His fingers visibly trembled as he opened the seal. 

“Petrolia, Mfty —, 19 —. 

“My best and dearest Friend: 

“I have time to pen in return, only a very brief note 
as the bearer of this letter seems in great haste. 


230 


THE BARON" OF THE BARRENS 


“Mr. Henshaw has told me that you have found oil. 
Congratulations unbounded. But it may also bring you 
trouble. And forgive me, Jim, but I drew from small 
tilings Ted unintentionally dropped, that your resources 
may be—well, a trifle low owing to unexpected expenses. 
Yes, it takes a woman to pry. Forgive me. Now unless 
your memory is very short, you may recall the Help you 
so unstintedly rendered me when I was needy. You cast 
your bread upon the waters and now you find a few crumbs 
of it after many days. There, stop, or I will place my 
hand over your mouth I enclose a check for five hundred 
dollars. Please, Jim, just use it. I can let you have more 
and would be so happy to do something for you. 

“Y ours, 

“J ean 

At the close Snowdon averted his face to hide his emo¬ 
tion from Ted. He was a staunch believer in the doctrine 
that whatever is done brings whatever is best in the end, 
the doctrine that he had just proclaimed in other words 
to the boy but he had not anticipated such quick fruition; 
not dreamed that a benevolent gift bestowed in more 
prosperous days, would be cast up again by the waves at 
his feet in time of need. By it he was quite overcome. 
Ted was narrowly watching his demeanor. 

“Mr. Jim,” he ventured in trembling voice, “have I been 
the cause of more trouble?” 

Jim did not turn his face but answered, his voice low 
and husky, “No, Ted. But I fear you have been the cause 
of bringing me luck that I refrain from”—he did not 
finish. “You were guiding an angel’s steps.” 

Ted loved to think of that. In Jim’s regard, he now 
believed he had won a state of complete restitution. Then 
he began to hustle luggage into the cabin and never did 
a boy buckle harder to a task. He walked on air. He 
whistled bird-songs—a happy bov once again. If there 
is such a thing as a look of mingled sadness and happiness, 
then Jim’s face wore it. It came from reluctance to 
accept financial aid from Jean and from joy in the beauty 
of heart which inspired it. He felt much like himself 
again and had things shipshape in the cabin and supper 


“WATCHFUL WAITING” 231 

* 

well under way when the strangers came up in the twi¬ 
light, raving over Big Ben and the spring, the pond, and 
the romantic log cabin where they would love to dwell 
forever. James extended to them a royal welcome, such 
as only barons can give, calling them, familiarly, by their 
given names, Homer and Virgil. In the living room they 
were further enchanted with the unique comforts: the 
wide window permitting a broad view of the wilds out¬ 
side; the old-fashioned fireplace and the crane; the elec¬ 
tric lights and the artistic fixtures! They openly declared 
that Jim, by rights, should have paid a million for the 
Barrens. Jim winced at the allusion; it was ever a 
tender spot. 

In the absence of servants, he left them and returned 
to the kitchen to prepare refreshments. Very naturally, 
out of boy and dog curiosit} r , Ted and the dog stole in 
where they w r ere, and no less naturally Homer and Virgil 
were petting them wdiile Jim was frying stolen ham, his 
conscience no less seared than the meat which was sending 
up a relishing but condemning odor unto high heaven, 
wdien the dog, having formed an aversion to the company, 
maliciously bit Virgil, the younger of the pair, in the 
calf of the leg. That caused great commotion in the cabin 
of course. The w^ound had first to he cauterized, then 
the dog chastized. James swiftly made a very thorough 
job of both, more especially the training of the canine 
as judged from the howls that rent the air. Ted bitterly 
and silently resented the treatment of Lark and strove 
to allay his pain by caresses, the while blinking tears. 
Afterward, however, he very solemnly admitted to Cad that 
it wns very hard on the stranger yet he held it to be the 
very making of the pup. 

Homer and Virgil came to the table with ravenous 
appetites, the best of sauces. That ham! Never had they 
eaten anything equal unto it before. Mtr. Snowdon suffered 
helplessly while they questioned him as to where he got 
it; how it was cured, what was the age of the animal 
and divers questions which drew perilously close to the 
actual circumstances. He prevaricated very skilfully for 
a green practitioner and breathed a silent and thankful 
amen when they dropped the subject of Hayhows* ham. 


232 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


But they switched right to Jerushy’s incomparable bread! 
James was strictly a vegetarian for the remainder of that 
meal, unable to compromise with his conscience sufficiently 
to dine on pork or even wheat. 

That night, James and Homer were to keep the watch 
at the well. Already there had been signs of incursion 
as reported by Cad. Late that afternoon Hannibal Hay- 
how had appeared, coming down from the hill above, and 
crossed the road near the forbidden field. Cad, alert for 
predatory inroads, had detected a stealthy walk through 
the growth and quietly proceeded in that direction with 
gun ready for action in case the intruder wilfully per¬ 
sisted in passing the line of posted notices which thickly 
surrounded the well. Hannibal was visibly surprised and 
disconcerted when Cadmus, in battle array, suddenly ap¬ 
peared around the thick clump of bushes which Hayhow 
had evidently chosen for a vantage-shield behind which 
to carry on his work of espionage. Though Cadmus sang 
out a cheery greeting, Hannibal did not fail to notice the 
look of steel in his determined eye. Cadmus was a true 
child of Oklahoma oildom and Snowdon knew well his 
qualities when he brought him east. He was dependable, 
and on him, Snowdon unreservedly depended. Hayhow 
returned the salute in a hang-dog way and sprang for his 
gun which stood by a rock a short distance back of him. 
Cad warned him not to touch it; and when he heard a 
gun-hammer click, he evidently considered it healthier for 
him not to attempt it at the moment. 

“Great note, when a feller can’t come through here 
huntin’ cattle anymore ’thout havin’ a gun pulled on ’im,” 
he said while he looked a malicious hatred lie dared not 
utter. 

To that Allen laughingly replied that he seemed more 
interested in wells than stray cattle and warned him to be 
off while the going was good or perchance his Petrolia 
friends might have to come out after him with a box. At 
that, Hayhow ventured to reach for his gun again, but 
Allen coolly forbade, informing him the gun would be 
sent to him later by Riley Henshaw without fail. 

“Will see you later,” growled the disgruntled Hannibal 


“WATCHFUL WAITING” 


233 


and with that he hurried away, convinced that there had 
been rich findings. 

Cadmus consigned the contraband taken from the enemy 
to the house of mystery. So rested matters when Snow¬ 
don, who had been at the cabin most of the day with Homer 
relieved Allen for the night. 

The ground around the well had been cleared and cleaned 
of everything combustible for a wide space, in the event 
that forest fires broke out, save for one huge old pine log 
which reached almost from the foot of the derrick to the 
edge of the bushes. The purpose for leaving the log was 
known only to Jim and Cad. The oil-pots, which hung 
in the derrick and on the engine-house had been so ar¬ 
ranged that when lit, the old log would cast a deep shadow, 
on the upper side, its entire length in the surrounding 
illumination. In this deep shadow, on some dark night, 
Jim Snowdon anticipated that either he or Cad, for they 
were to take alternate turns at watch, was likely to take 
cognizance of some scout, either from the enemy’s camp 
or in the interest of some oil company, crawling up to get 
a position under the derrick floor, there to lay secreted 
and gain any possible knowledge of findings. Such was his 
surmise from having passed through the phases of pros¬ 
pecting in other fields. He was aware that in the early 
days of the industry, a portion of the Barrens had been 
tested by the crude process of the times and condemned. 
That was history handed down from first inhabitants. 
Frequently, such territory, developed by later experience 
and methods, had proven productive. His venture was 
sure to attract the interest of prospectors, especially if the 
result was kept a mystery. Tf the news of a rich find 
was circulated—and such news travels like wild-fire—then 
the race would be on to secure contiguous holdings. But 
tangible proof of a pay-streak would be necessary to start 
an excitement. Certain it w r as that old Milt had gone 
forth with a high oil fever, and Hannibal Ilayhow now 
had ample grounds for strong suspicion. Any story they 
might concoct would be the proper incentive to lure the 
adventurer to attempt a close scrutiny. Not infrequently 
had spectators, manifesting interest, paid them visits while 
they were drilling; and now the old log might be remem- 


234 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


bered by some one, perhaps-, as a means to afford a way 
to pass the guards in the darkness. 

The covert in which the watcher lay concealed was 
fashioned out of poles; over it was heaped dead brush to 
repres-ent a brush-pile carelessly thrown together on the 
edge of thick standing bushes now in full foliage. The 
brush covering could be raised in front when occupied, 
and deftly lowered when the occupant was absent, to hide 
all trace of the site. The interior permitted the tenant 
to sit or recline, at his will. The first layer of the canopy 
was made of strips of dry bark, arranged to shed rain. 
And therein reposed Jim on a thick bed of leaves, wound 
in a warm blanket, as snug as a bug in a rug, his trusty 
Winchester beside him. To keep awake in such case was 
the only difficulty. Occasionally he scanned the shadow 
through a pair of strong binoculars but his vigilance was 
not rewarded that night and time waxed heavy. When after 
long waiting he craned his neck out of the shelter to behold 
Aurora, the most roseate goddess of the myths, flushing the 
eastern sky, great was his relief. 

When it was light enough to travel, he crept out 
and dropped the wicket after him. His duty was 
to pay Homer a call on the opposite side of the camp 
where he was ensconced in a shelter very similar 
to his own. He chose a circuitous route through the bushes 
to avoid the open, lest he become a target for a bullet 
from the treacherous Hayhow who might be lurking in the 
undergrowth, still smarting from his recent encounter. As 
Snowdon cautiously crossed through the bushes the dawn¬ 
ing got in his blood and his cares took wings. It was a 
glorious sunrise when viewed from the hills. The impulse 
to stop and feast his eyes upon what was new around him 
—for he had been walking blindly since the winter—was 
irresistible. Trillium, its nodding blooms white as lightly 
fallen snow, rioted everywhere; bush-honeysuckles shook 
out their deep pink bells invitingly to the humming-bird; 
here and there a dogwood tree displayed its creamy blos¬ 
soms, telling, according to Indian tradition, that it was 
time to plant corn; dog-roses blushed their deepest; along 
the brooks the alders were shaking powdery curls; and from 
all the tangle poured clamorous songs of feathered revelry. 


235 


“WATCHFUL WAITING” 

From far off on the hillside, came the bark of a fox calling 
to her whelps. It was a morning to reanimate the most 
carking soul and turn it blithe. 

The man had been standing for some time, his face 
a study, while he inhaled deep breaths of the flower- 
scented air. “If the prisoner of Chillon learned to love 
his prison cell, in how much greater measure have 1 come 
to love these old rock-ribbed hills. They would make a 
poet of me—if I weren’t born to be a ‘Baron’.” 

While he had been hailing the sunrise another scene 
beyond the hills might have been more highly interesting 
to him could he have been aloft and looking down. It 
was Milton Cobb, wearing that same old raccoon smile, up 
long before the sun, and riding into Petrolia at a brisk 
trot behind his old mare, Nance. As he gave her a cut 
with a. beech gad which caused her to throw up her tail 
and increase the jog, he ruminated, “In this game o’ cut¬ 
throat, it was old John Snowdon that shuffled the pack 
and turned up a club. Jim has ordered it up. I’ll swing 
a trump, accordin’ to Hoyle, an’ fetch out their biggest. 
They’ll play a hot game, but I’m Jim’s partner, hopin’ 
we eucher the old trout. Git-ap, Nance!”—and he brought 
her another cut on the flank in his hurry—“for I hold the 
ace. I’ll bring in the first trick. Jim’s sure got some good 
cards up his sleeve. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have sot 
down to the table with the old scoundrel. But it’ll make 
old John squirm an’ twist some any w^ay when I rake the 
board.” 

The thought of abasing the mighty, turned the old rac¬ 
coon smile into a wily chuckle. And James v T ould have 

«✓ 

approved of the lead. 



XXIII 


NANCY DAWSON 

Though the office of Snowdon and Son was open early 
to the public that morning on which MAlton descended 
upon Petrolia, the inner sanctuary was closed to him, 
wherein the object of his journey was closeted with several 
magnates of high finance who were there on an important 
mission. So he was duly informed by the page; and*further 
informed that he must not disturb the meeting when he 
attempted to open the door, unbidden, upon the conclave. 

“When’s the Great Wang-a-Wang of the Most High 
Wack-a-Whacks likely to he free to talk business with me?” 
he inquired irascibly. 

“Possibly not until this afternoon,” mildlv answered 
the page, pussv-footing up. 

Here old Milt broke the rules, opened the door, and 
walked into his Majesty’s presence, unannounced. 

“Where is that block-head of a page?” roared old John 
at the sight of Milt, annoyed by his uncouth presence at 
that particular time. “Milt, you must get right out of 
here and wait till I am through with this business I have 
on hand. Hear me, Milt?” as Milt proceeded to the end 
of the table around which sat a distinguished looking body, 
which might, in truth, have been taken for the president’s 
cabinet in council. Mr. Snowdon rose in great flurry—* 
not to say ire—and shook his hand toward the door. But 
he failed to put Milton out of countenance though the old 
man was beginning to feel small in the presence of such 
high-browed potency and rather regretted his step when 
they all simultaneously turned in revolving chairs, threw 
back their heads and lifted various styles of glasses through 
which to view him, much as if he were a moon-calf. 

“Go on with yer rat-killin’, John, and I’ll jest make 
myself right to home here, in this big chair till it’s over 
if ye’ll jest lend me a spittoon.” And the insistent Milton 
sank down heavily like a sack of chop into a great deep- 

236 


NANCY DAWSON 


237 


seated chair. Flashes of gold and diamonds further in¬ 
creased his awe; but great was his relief when satisfied 
with one glance at him the “high-ups” swung back into 
former position and began to trace lines on a map spread 
before them on the table. 

“Yes, we can run this road up Hazel Fork, get a low 
grade as far as the Echo Hills”—it was one of the strang¬ 
ers speaking while Snowdon roared out to Milt again to 
be off as he took a step toward him—“then tunnel that hill 
and come out into Sunrise Valley, low grade all the way,” 
the voice went on, unmindful of any interruptions. 

“Well, take that route if it suits you?” thundered Snow¬ 
den in a vein of defiance not understood by his associates. 
Old Milt caught the meaning quickly, though the words 
were well camouflaged. 

By this time, he was on his feet in possession of a scrap 
of valuable information for Jim, verifying the old adage, 
“A dog that brings a bone will carry one.” 

“Here is sand from the Hermit Spring gusher,” he coolly 
said, depositing a package on the table. “I will wait out¬ 
side now till ye git through railroadin’, Gov’nor Snowdon.” 

Then he blew out through the door like a snow-squall and 
seated himself there to await his hour. At length the door 
of the sanctum sanctorum suddenly opened and the high 
officials of the trunk railway pompously filed out. As 
they were passing old Milt on their way to the outer door, 
donning their silk hats as they hurried, he turned up his 
head and sociably began, “If ye run yer road up Hazel 
Fork, it’ll pass my place jest down over the hill back of the 
cow-barn. Call some day when ye’re goin’ by an’ we’ll tap 
an ink bottle and open a keg o’ spikes.” 

The}^ had not quite vanished yet from sight when one of 
their party who had lingered to have a parting fling with 
old John—a very short man he was—came racing out 
after them. “Hey, there!” called Milt to those in advance. 
“Ye’ve broke loose from the caboose! Down brakes and 
couple up!” 

It might be in order, now, to disclose their business with 
the head of Snowdon and Son before old Milt is called 
into the secret den for an interview and a grill. 

A trunk railway line ran through Petrolia. The cor- 


238 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


poration that owned it had recently purchased another 
important line which touched at a point sixty miles north 
of the city. To connect these lines was to enhance busi¬ 
ness. And the distance and contour of a very hilly country 
taken into consideration, favored Petrolia and Whittles 
Depot to the north as the logical termini of the proposed 
route. Already a road connected these points, a one-horse 
affair, and chief among the stockholders and president of 
the combine was John Snowdon, Sr. Other companies, to 
get freight transported over this road, had long been 
bled; and the belief had grown strong among railway 
officials that old John Snowdon was the sagamore in the 
blood-letting. Since the greater lines had been consoli¬ 
dated, naturally the obnoxious president of the “Little 
Cut-throat” track, long under surveillance, now found 
himself pinched in a vise, because of a merger which 
threatened a financial collapse of the House of Snowdon. 
Sell his road at their own figures or they would construct 
a parallel line to crush it, was the irrevocable mandate of 
the victors. So, in a last desperate move, suffering the 
sting of humiliation, the deepest he had ever felt, Snow¬ 
don had called the merciless powers of the trunk line to 
conference with small hopes of extricating himself from 
their squeezers. But the last chance in battle despises 
not a paper shield. And when old Milt that morning had 
bull-headed his way into the toils which John Snowdon 
had long been preparing for himself, he had found the old 
war-horse, with back to the wall. 

As previously intimated, old Milt had not been slow to 
note how quickly Snowdon’s manner changed when he 
gleaned it was the fixed purpose of his adversaries, if they 
failed to corner him, to pierce the Barrens with their pro¬ 
posed road. His answer had been equivalent to a dictum 
that his company would not consider their nominal price, 
but labor, rather, to break the clinch of the mailed fist. 
And why this change of attitude? If James had found 
oil he would redeem the Barrens, and perpetually harass 
the move. There was left a fighting chance. He courted 
fighting chances. It was the blood of the Bruces. 

“Next,” called the magnate through the door to old 
Milt after the “caboose” had pulled out. 


NANCY DAWSON 


239 


‘‘I've an idee it's to be a close shave," responded Milt 
as he hustled back into the room and took a seat. “I notice 
yer razor hain’t wore off any of its keen edge though Fve 
an idee it'll be gittin' some blunt afore ye git over the 
whiskers of all that ‘Grand Trunk Company’.” 

Old John had his back turned toward him and was 
examining the sand. He had opened the package before 
Milt returned. Under the arc of electric lights which flood¬ 
ed the room, he was enabled to see perfectly well the 
quality of the sand and oil. Presently, he turned in his 
chair and with knit brows began the study of Milt’s face 
for an uncomfortable length of time. John Snowdon’s 
reputation as a business sharper had been built on his 
keen study of the faces of those with whom he dealt, 
together with a personality that electrified. His power 
over those with whom he came in contact was little short 
of mesmerism. But the face of the prominent citizen 
from Nubbin Ridge, bore the scrutiny well, wearing that 
same raccoon smile. 

Snowdon suddenly turned in his chair, rested his elbows 
on the arms and clasped his hands. “To whom are you 
playing false—James or me?” 

Old Milt smarted under the lash. His voice was raucous 
as he replied: “Sand is sand, John. I’ve brought what ye 
asked for—third sand, oil sand. Many feet of it full of 
oil. A bargain’s- a bargain. Now fulfill yer part.” 

“There was no bargain. Milt. Ybu refused to enter into 
one. I didn’t expect you,”—coolly. 

Milton’s high aspirations had received an unexpected 
jolt. The raccoon smile gave way to a crafty leer. Like a 
cobra he stuck out his head and hissed, “Books that’ll 
show what ye paid for the Barrens may take the wind out 
of yer sails.” 

Old John swayed for a moment like a reed shaken by 
the wind. His face paled. Old Milt’s words had knifed him 
in a vital spot. Great heaven! had Jim Snowdon gained 
access to the books of the Newark Oil Company though 
the corporation had been defunct for a year and the last 
constituent had recently passed away ? True, the purchase 
price mentioned in the deed for transfer of the Barrens 
was a nominal dollar (very common in law) but how much 


240 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


more had the grantors received? The books recorded it 
but John Snowdon had had the assurance that the books 
would never be opened. Yet Jim Snowdon had found a 
leak. Then, there were the letters sent to the brother in 
Scotland—receipts given for half a million dollars with 
which to make the purchase. Now the books, if sub¬ 
poenaed, would divulge that he, John Snowdon, acting 
with the power of attorney had been guilty of a penal 
offense! All this arose before him like a horrible night¬ 
mare. The harrowing thought of it had never reproached 
him before this day. The skeleton in the closet was be¬ 
ginning to rattle. He looked down at the grinning Milt, 
crowded into the chair before him, enjoying his wretched 
plight. He started for him in his desperation. 

“Now quit, John!” exclaimed old Milt, springing up 
and jumping back, for he saw danger to his personal 
safety in the man’s eye. “Quit right where ye are! Now 
listen, John! ’Tain’t half so bad mebby as ye think!” and 
lie had got the table between them. “Teteh me an’ ye’ll 
be wearin’ beefsteak over both yer eyes! I didn’t come 

here to hurt ye but I will if-” they were both dodging 

around the table. “Ye wouldn’t listen to reason an’ I 
only said that to bring ye off yer perch. I don’t know 
w r hat any books sav; an’ ye know Jim Snowdon wouldn’t 
tell me anything he knows; he’s that tongue-tied.” 

Old Milt’s words gave room for speculation and Snowdon 
paused. He felt what Milt had said was true; his nephew 
came of a stock that disclosed no secrets, or purposes until 
they struck. Jim would never scatter abroad any such 
intelligence. He would deal a crushing blow without warn¬ 
ing. But whether the charge that old Malt had let fall 
was only conjecture, or whether a report was current, 
puzzled him. At any rate it would be to his advantage 
to secure any news from the Barrens, truth or otherwise, 
of which old Milt might have possession. 

“Sit down, Milt. Then tell me all about where you got 
this oil-sand and how you doctored it, if you wish me to 
surrender the mortgage,” he commanded in mollified tones. 

“Ye’ll keep the other side of the table from me,” declared 
old Milt as he came up on the opposite side. “I’ve alius 
heard ye was as quick-tempered as the devil but I didn't 



NANCY DAWSON- 


241 


s’pose it was bad as what it is. I didn’t have time to git 
mad miff to fight. Ye set down, then I will. Then if ye 
go off half-cocked agin, I'll have time to square for the 
charge. I ain’t afeared of ye, John, in a fair bout an’ ye 
can jest salt that down as a fact.” 

Snowdon ignored old Wilt’s excitement. 

“You say that Jim has struck oil, third sand oil, and 
you bring sand from the same,” he snapped, as he eyed 
Milt through his prodigious shell-rimmed spectacles. 

"I do,” averred Milton with the dignity of a court wit¬ 
ness. 

“How deep is that sand?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Didn’t hear Jim say?” 

“No.” 

“Hear him say whether he thought he had found oil in 
paving quantity or not?” 

“No.” 

“Is he pumping oil into a receiving tank and having 
the pipe line company lay a line up there?” 

“No. He stopped as soon as he struck it and put a 
heavy guard around the well. It’s a mystery.” 

“Why ?” 

“Wants to lease Nubbin Eidge afore the news of the 
find gits out. Nubbin Eidge is the only territory near.” 

“I don’t think it’s much of a mystery with you in the 
secret. Who are the guards ?” 

“Wal, themselves, Eiley Henshaw, an’ me, an’ two 
strange fellers that I don’t know.” 

“And one of the guards is down here today trying to 
sell out!” and Snowdon laughed despite the dark clouds 
rising above his horizon. 

“I’ll tell ye how ’tis, John,” said old Milt, uneasily, as 
he shifted his quid. “I don’t see any use of him trying to 
keep it a secret. Ye’ve got the strangle holt on him and 
if 3 T e want to reach out at any time an’ claw him in ’ye 
can do it.” 

“Yes, by paying dearly for it,” was the almost despond¬ 
ent answer. Then he added, “Now, he stands there guard¬ 
ing what? I don’t understand?” 

“No, he ain’t standin’. He’s tryin’ to lease Nubbin 


242 


THE BAR OX OF THE BARREXS 


Ridge afore some other company gobbles it up. Riley 
Henshaw told me last night that he was goin' over to-day 
to guard an J Jim was goim to start leasin'/' 

Old John's brows knit. To redeem the Barrens would 
be to relieve himself of all threatening difficulty. On the 
other hand, if the territory proved worthless, it would 
place him on the verge of financial ruin. Yet even that 
would be preferable to prison bars. 

“Go home. Milt. I am too busy today to consider 
your proposition. Come back a week from today. Then 
it will be a frank yes or no. Get me?” he asked, rising 
and waving Milton to the door. 

“Jest to give ye some more time to perpetrate some 
more deviltry,” foreboded Milt as he seized his hat and 
made off, while his accusation fell on deaf ears. 

An hour later, old Xance trotted leisurely up Maple 
Avenue, homeward bound. It was a wide, shady way, bor¬ 
dered by beautiful homes with spacious lawns. Xo business 
traffic ever disturbed this aristocratic quarter; even the 
birds whose habitat was in this favored retreat looked 
down with indifference upon feathered itinerants that 
chanced in. Exclusiveness was manifested, too, in the verv 
deportment of the fine-haired canines with locked and let¬ 
tered brass collars, who gathered in packs with social noses 
to sniff at any common cur bent on excursion. The milk¬ 
man, the ice-man, the grocer must make their deliveries 
in the morning before the guild in millionaire street was 
astir. If a countryman tried the doors on Maple Avenue 
with his produce, he never tried again, for he was sure 
to go away frozen, even by the servants. 

When old Xance was once turned into this quiet lane 
she ceased acting skittish, ceased shying at the sight of 
cars, and at the sound of horn and clatter; and that was 
why old Milt had chosen it. Then, too. by taking this 
circuitous route out of Petrolia, he would not meet with 
any of his associates, who never polluted Maple Avenue 
with their common presence. His head hung down, he 
was just wondering what manner of story he could con¬ 
coct to avoid blasting Aunt Ibby's hopes entirely, what he 
should offer instead of the mortgage for her to burn, when, 
suddenly, up behind him came trotting a pacer of the 


NANCY DAWSON 


243 


race turf, driven by the nattiest of jockeys. As the sharp 
hoof clips on the pavement came nearer, Milt turned his 
head to look behind. He observed that the steed bearing 
down on him was “King Canute’* of enviable record. Trim 
of limb as the mountain deer, his head high in the air 
with nostrils dilated, the horse appeared to be touching 
terra firma with his hind feet only, the fores striking high, 
apparently climbing in their supple use. Before old Milt 
could turn, King Canute was abreast. The jockey was 
guiding him as closely to Milt’s rig as possible without 
causing a mixture of wheels. 

Old Nance awoke! Terrorized at the unusual sound and 
onrush she gave such a terrific spring that horse and 
harness threatened to separate. At the same time Milt 
parted company with his can of oil, which flew out 
behind the old buggy, likewise his hat, and the race 
was on. In her palmy days, old Nance had the reputa¬ 
tion in the hills of taking no horse’s dust. But 
her years, coupled with starvation, had long ago placed 
her in a somnambulant state from which she was only 
revived when belabored with a switch. Today she had 
shown unmistakable signs of rejuvenescence and when 
King Canute struck a challenge at her side, she suddenly 
raised her gaunt frame and accepted it. No arching of 
the neck,—her head shot straight out with ears laid back. 
King Canute’s head was now at her flanks, old Milt curs¬ 
ing but holding the lines firmly, the jockey yelling with 
laughter at the spectacle. King Canute gained, his head 
moving up inch by inch on old Nance as she limbered for 
the race. They were flying! Children screamed! Dogs 
raced after, barking! Maple Avenue ceased to be exclusive! 
King Canute’s head had reached up even with Nance’s. 
Old Milt saw she was holding her own. He reached 
forward and struck her with the whip. She responded 
and gave new signs of impetus. Slowly but surely she 
was leaving King Canute! The jockey had ceased laughing 
and was nervously applying the whip. King Canute was 
steadily losing! Milton now observed an automobile closely 
following behind. Going to be arrested for speeding 
he thought. What cared he? Old Nance was winning the 
race. Suddenly some one in the car shouted, “Halt!” 


244 


THE BAR OH OF THE BARRENS 


Milt reined down on old Nance. Gradually slie slowed 
and came to a stop. The race was won! 

The car drew up beside Milt and from the rear seat, 
a man jumped down. He was well-dressed, a slouch hat 
shading his eyes—evidently a plainclothes man to make the 
arrest. He straightway walked up and critically surveyed 
old Nance. Her head was hanging low, her limbs in a 
tremor and steaming. Then he turned and looked at old 
Milt, quizzicalU, for a time. 

“Wlal, come serve yer papers an’ have it over,” said 
Milt impatiently. “I was chased into this scrape but Fm 
willin’ to lay in jail to have the honor o' beatin’ King 
Canute. If ye’ve got anything that is really fast in Pe- 
trolia, w’y jest trot it out.” 

“I’m not here to arrest you,” said the stranger, turning 
bis attention again to old Nance and stroking her head 
and neck. “I’m the owner of King Canute.” 

“Be, hey!”—nonchalantly feeling his pockets for tobacco 
and pipe. “If I was the owner, I’d sell ’im or swap ’im 
an’ git somethin’ that had a little life in it. Drivin’ 
snails is all right. But drivin’ a horse at a snail’s pace 
is entirely out o’ place,”—scratching a match and starting 
his pipe. 

“How old is this old bone-heap?” asked the man, un¬ 
heeding his remark. 

“She’s a sucker. Jest took ’er off ’n the old mare long 
enuff to drive to Petrolia. Git ap! ye see, I must be gittin’ 
home to let her nurse.” 

“Hold on a minute. Uncle.” The man looked in her 
mouth. She’s no doubt one of the pair that Noah had in 
the Ark. What’s her name?” 

“Nancy Dawson, the Queen o’ the Turf,” Milt glibly 
invented. “Nance for common. Gitap!” 

“Wait, Uncle. Want to sell her?” 

“Hain’t perticler to part with her.” 

The turf king kept looking her over. The sight was 
almost grewsome. Yet possibly she might be revived to 
do one more heat before she died. “Well, what is your 
price for her?” 

“One thousand dollars spot cash. And nothin’ short o’ 
that takes Nancy Dawson. Ye see it does me a heap o’ 


NANCY DAWSON 


245 


good to come up behind some o’ yer brag steppers an’ pass 
when I come to town. Ye see I never enter the races with 
her out o’ respect o’ yer feelin’s here in Petrolia. Don’t 
want to see ye fellers round steppin’ on yer upper lips 
after it’s over.” 

The man laughed at the fabulous price. “Oil, come off, 
now, Uncle. What will you take and be quick about it?” 

“Nance hain’t no cheap skate to be barterin’ on in gypsy 
fashion. Git ap!” 

“Stop. I’ll give you one hundred.” 

“Git ap!” 

“Whoa, Nance. Take two hundred?” 

“Git ap!” 

“Three ?” 

“Git ap!” 

The man took her by the bit to keep her from starting. 

“Four?” 

“Le’ go that bit. Git ap, Nance.” 

“Five ?” 

“If ye don’t le’ go that bit, I’ll strike ye right over the 
head,” said old Milt, rising and flourishing his beech gad. 
“With some rich guy ye wouldn’t turn a word at two 
thousand; no, nor five. Nancy jests suits me. Git ap, 
Nance, an’ take me home at a mile a minute.” 

The man let go of her bit and stepped back. “Well, 
you old fool, turn around and follow me back to my barn 
and I’ll give you your price.” 

Milton was seized with paroxyms of joy though he hid 
all signs of it. Seemingly regretful he turned faithful old 
Nancy about. A cool, clear thousand! Then he was 
seized with a fear that old Nance might not live to meet 
the delivery for she clumsily ambled along with drooping 
head; the relaxation from the high tension of muscle was 
beginning to tell. But she was spared to fulfill the con¬ 
tract and when Milt drove her into the elaborate stables 
of the turfman, as directed, Nancy Dawson truly entered 
into the highest state of horse heaven. Money had not 
been spared in equipment. The barn was already filled 
with a laughing crowd of spectators who applauded Milt 
as he rode in, hatless and smiling. They pronounced it 


24*6 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


the event of the season. King Canute had been badly 
beaten by an old worn-out farm horse. 

“Good-bye, Nancy,” said old Milt with shaky voice as 
he took leave of his old friend. Two grooms were busy 
administering a sponge bath while she contentedly munched 
the choicest of fare. “Ibby and me watched ye grow 
up from a little colt out there on the hills. Faith¬ 
fully, ye plowed the flinty soil for the corn. Through 
wind and weather, ye carried me to town and brought me 
safely home again, times when Fd be rip roarin’ drunk. 
And now at the end, ye—ye—have saved us from the poor- 
house !” And the old man was sniveling. 

Two weeks from that time, out in their little cabin on 
the hillside, the intelligence reached Aunt Ibby and Uncle 
Milt that old Nancy had paid her debt to nature; that 
she had never rallied from her last race. But she had won 
for them. And who shall say theirs were insensate tears 
at the passing of an old and faithful friend? 


XXIV 


WHEREIN A SHADOW FLAYS A CONSPICUOUS PART 

Night at Hermit Spring, the fourth since a guard had 
been placed on picket duty around the well! The news 
that oil had been found had flashed forth like a meteor 
due to Milton’s habit of flaring secrets, like rockets. And 
the mystery, linked with Jim’s effort to lease Nubbin Ridge, 
had fomented the country far and wide to a pitch that 
bordered on frenz}^ Numerous prospectors had journeyed 
thither only to meet with evasive answers at the outposts 
and turned back little wiser than they came. 

It was Jim’s vigil of the shadow. In the firm belief 
that his plan would draw a scout from the enemy’s camp 
at no distant time to investigate, he lay in his wickyup, 
waiting. He felt somehow that tonight the expected was 
going to happen; perhaps for the reason that occasionally 
an unusual sound from out in the thicket had been caught 
by his ever alert ear. Then, too, old Milt had been con¬ 
spicuous for absence on the field, which warranted a sur¬ 
mise that he had exploded in the right place and feared 
detection. The time was approaching midnight. The 
lights of the oil-jacks shone out from the derrick with great 
effulgence and filled the place with phantom shadows. Jim 
settled the binoculars on the deep shadow of the old log, 
impatient with waiting for the nights were beginning to 
wax long. 

This time his vigil was rewarded. At least, there 
appeared to be two darker outlines about the lengths 
of men in the gloom, and his heart began to thump almost 
audibly with hope. Surely the dark objects were crawling, 
crawling along up toward the derrick. Seconds seemed 
like hours! Suspense was almost beyond endurance. Only 
the snapping of a twig! might turn his fortune to naught. 
Cold beads of sweat stood on his forehead. The scheme 
could not, must not fail! He better adjusted the strong 
glasses to his eyes and focused on the few feet of lighted 


248 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


space between log and derrick. When he had begun to 
feel it was all an hallucination, a form crawled out into 
full view, inch by inch, and a face turned so that the light 
fell upon it—his friend, Fred Pinks, reporter for the 
Petrolia Morning Sun! Pinks writhed quickly into the 
deep shadow of the derrick floor and was lost to view. 
Then, inch by inch, a heavier form crept out into the light. 
When for a moment there came a chance to see the face, 
the glasses dropped from Jim Snowdon’s hand as if he 
had been struck. “My father’s brother!” he gasped, “who 
creeps to strike in the dark! Can it be that the same 
blood courses our veins? In Scotland, I was proud of 
the name Snowdon. In America, I am ashamed to 
bear it. He has sold his soul! I’ll buy it and keep the 
price within the proud House of Snowdon.” 

By this time the midnight visitants were well under the 
derrick floor in a desperate attempt to gain first-hand 
information, the one for an enviable newspaper scoop, the 
other for his personal gain. As Jim crawled noiselessly 
out of his seclusion the thought that deepest concerned him 
was how long they would remain. Lithe as the crafty 
red man in times of the pioneer, he stirred neither bush 
nor bough, following a well-defined path till he was on 
the cabin-side of the well. Then, as if just naturally 
coming down from the cabin to go on guard, with heavy 
step he proceeded to the derrick whistling carelessly, his 
gun on his shoulder. He then whistled sharply for Yirgil 
for he usually slept at his post. When that worthy came 
stumbling in, half asleep, James explained in a loud voice, 
for the benefit of his listeners, that they would fire up 
and run down the bailer to see if the walls of the hole had 
caved in. Whistling he went about the work with no 
explanation as to why he had taken this strange notion in 
the night. In due time the bailer was run down and 
brought up. When he opened the valve, splash went 
the rich fluid over the floor, pouring through the cracks, 
the fumes nauseating. 

“She’s a jewel!” affirmed Yirgil, perfectly natural, 
ignorant of the motive and dodging around to keep out of 
the spray. “Aren’t you afraid of fire?” 

“Little,” returned Jim coolly, leaning the empty bailer 


A SHADOW PLAYS A PART 


249 


against a derrick leg. Then he sat down. Virgil did 
likewise. 

. “And you say the books show that the Barren's actually 
cost my uncle but one paltry dollar per acre, Virgil ?” 

“That is what they will tell if brought into court,” 
innocently averred the posterity of the last member, de¬ 
ceased, of the extinct Newark Oil Company. 

Jim fancied he heard his victim writhing underneath 
him. 

“But how to keep a relative from wearing prison stripes 
in this deplorable affair is a ticklish proposition,” he said 
with deliberate effect. 

“Is he aware he is resting on the crater rim of a Vesuv¬ 
ius ?” 

“May be a Vesuvius under us this minute. Can't tell.” 
James knew he heard a disturbance now below. 

“What was that?” asked Virgil in a suppressed voice. 

“Likely a porcupine. Come, let’s walk towards the 
cabin.” And he rose followed by Virgil who still felt cer¬ 
tain that he had heard a strange noise under the derrick and 
begged to investigate, for he was far from a coward. 
James paid no attention. Things were shaping too well 
to give utterance. 

When they had walked a short distance up the path, 
Snowdon felt that by this time his birds had flown. He 

1/ 

raised his gun and fired three parting salutes to a fleeing 
Philistine whose wretched mind was now filled with 
thoughts of a vengeful Nemesis. 

Lowering his gun, yet smoking, he confessed, “To be 
truthful, Virgil, we had visitors—the right visitor. You 
heard him squirming. My uncle was under the derrick 
but has gone well oiled. Now we may expect something.” 

Virgil's eyes stood open as wide as barn-doors. “Christo¬ 
pher Columbo!” he excitedly roared. “'Why didn't you let 
me in on it? How do you know he was there?” 

“Saw him, and another friend, creep up in the 
shadow of the old log. Didn’t dare tell you. Wanted you 
to be a good actor. And you were. Perfectly natural, you 
know, till they were gone.” 

“Well, I'll be-. You’re a fox! The devil will never 

outwit you! Bet if you had touched a match to the old 



250 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


man’s oil-skins, the flames wouldn’t have burnt him worse 
than he’s burning now.” 

“Now, Virgil, you go up to the old bach roost, rout 
out Cad and get him to come down here to finish the 
watch with me. You roll in and finish your natural rest. 
It’s over.” 

He had designed to land the wary old trout by the report 
of an El Derado, filtered out presumably through Milt 
Cobb or some forbidden inquisitor, which would increase 
the fever to snap the bait. In case this failed he would 
confront him with the proof of his perfidy and if he re¬ 
fused to come to account, then try to reach him through 
the courts. But his uncle’s unanticipated visit had the 
consequence of completely altering the line of strategy. 
The older man had sprung a surprise! 

Now James was confronted by a new hypothesis. Would 
his uncle immediately close his option on the Barrens? 
If not, would he hastily dispose of his effects and abscond ? 
Or would he do neither? It left James with his mind, 
like all Gaul, divided into three parts. 

That night the House of Mystery was razed. Fire 
obliterated the secret it held. Next morning found James 
in Petrolia with two detectives, shadowing the “hidden 
hand,” Jean MacCrea financing the movement. He took 
up quarters at a hotel nearest his quarry and there waited 
the next issue of the Morning Sun. When it appeared on 
the streets early next morning, he procured a copy and 
sought the seclusion of his room. The headlines on the very 
first column, in bold type, proclaimed: “DISCOVERY OF 
OIL ON THE BARRENS.” Then followed a graphic 
account of how a dauntless reporter of that esteemed 
sheet, by the aid of a shadow, had passed under the nose of 
an armed guard of crack gunners, had poked his head into 
the very jaws of the lion, and probed the mystery. There 
had, in truth, been discovered a new field of oil of a 
superior grade. James could not repress smiles as he read 
the incident of the drench and miraculous escape. Great 
glory awaited the intrepid reporter in the eyes of the paper. 
Not a whit was said as to the reporter’s companion. This 
might have been so by mutual agreement. Pinks was glad 


A SHADOW PLAYS A PART 


251 


no doubt that he did not have to share honors; the other 
equally as glad to escape them. 

Then James perused the personals. James Snowdon, 
late of the Barrens, had become an oil king and had taken 
sumptuous apartments at the Brunswick. The hotel man¬ 
agement was using him for advertisement. He smiled 
again at the wiles of business. 

The call boy appeared at the door at that moment with 
the announcement that James Snowdon was wanted on 
the ’phone. James hastened below and answered. He 
heard his uncle’s voice, hollow and strained. Would James 
mind coming over to his office for an interview? Yes, 
tartly, James would mind. If wanted at any time, he 
was to be found at the Brunswick, Room 12. 

The time was set. He did not have long to wait. A 
heavy tread along the hall announced the coming of the 
financier. And when he stood at the open door, James rose 
to meet him but did not advance to exchange greetings; 
neither did he extend an invitation to enter. Unbidden 
the older man, faltering, stepped inside. 

“Close the door behind you,” commanded James. 

That order carried out, John Snowdon turned again 
and uncle and nephew stood facing each other, two ice¬ 
bergs, immovable in deep waters, awaiting the drift of a 
current to send them grinding against each other. Though 
late experiences had deepened lines in the older man’s face 
and told on his former resolute step, yet J ames saw he was 
no mean antagonist still. He gave James one long con¬ 
temptuous look, such as only he was capable of giving. 
He would go down, if down he went, with colors nailed to 
the mast. They faced each other, eye to eye, with a bitter 
hatred that became clashing clans in the early history of 
their native land. To honor gray hairs is ennoblement of 
character but James honored them only when they grew 
on honorable heads. How he looked his contempt. And 
the elder Snowdon, accustomed to looking his foeman 
out of countenance, here was confronted with accusing 
eves that withered him into insignificance. 

“Why are you here?” asked James in a tone half com¬ 
miseration, as he walked to a chair and sat down, still 
holding the older man with his riveting gaze. 


252 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


“Is it your wish that I relieve you of the Barrens ?” 
came the answer in a conciliatory voice not generally char¬ 
acteristic of his uncle. 

“Restitution of the money of the dead is it you wish 
to make?” followed the bitter question. 

Snowdon was far from being utterly quelled. He gave 
tokens of reviving. “Business is business. I am not here 
to indulge in old quarrels. Time with me is golden. Please 
answer my question, directly.” And he sat stiffly upright. 

“I am in the hands of Tiberius. And I await his 
action,” was the cold, calm response. 

“We are getting nowhere with your literary flights,” 
said the elder, irritable andi fidgeting. “In all fairness, I 
will propound the question again in another form to meet 
your lettered taste. If I take the Barrens off your hands, 
will it be a ‘peace on earth good will to men’ act? Or 
will it raise further bristles on your neck?” 

James, acutely keen to the subterfuge, laughed outright. 
“I will grant what you most desire. You find yourself 
cornered. You are fully awake to the punishment that 
awaits you if I choose to press the button and set the bell 
ringing. I wish to be rid of you. I have no clear, safe 
title to the Barrens. As it stands, if the earth yields . 
something of value, you are ready to reach forth and grasp 
it. The whole situation is complex. Clear it. If you 
wish to keep the name of Snowdon from the criminal 
docket, act quickly.” 

The words of James betrayed no inclination on his part 
to prosecute or persecute. John quickly caught at that. 
For him the possession of the Barrens had become doubly 
desirable as a means of pacifying James and a weapon to 
thwart the railway company. 

“I wish to know if old scores are wiped out if I take 
over the property at the purchase price and added inter¬ 
est?” he put out as a feeler. 

“With a relative whom I wish to shield from unsavory 

V 

public notoriety—yes,” replied James resuming his seat. 
“But,” he added on second thought, “if you let me retain 
the land for the interest money that has accrued and you 
take the oil right, exclusive of any other right, and give 
me one-eighth royalty on the oil and gas produced, I 


A SHADOW PLAYS A PART 


253 


will take the stock at par that you hold in the little high, 
dry and windy railroad which is about to go to the wall, 
in payment, as far as it goes, and then assume your fight 
with the trunk line people/’ 

The older man leaped from his seat. His face had 
grown years younger in one brief moment. “American 
finance!” he shouted. “Jamie, you’re the pigeon of Ameri¬ 
can high finance. Come to my arms, my boy!” 

“Will you do it?” And James rose and walked to a 
window where he could look down into the street. 

“Yes,” eagerly replied his uncle. “Give me a week to 
collect collateral for the purchase. What of the well already 
down on the property?” 

“Two thousand dollars for everything as it stands, to be 
paid in six months.” 

The old man had reached him by that time. “You’re a 
pippin, Jamie—a true Scot,”—patting him on the back. 
“That I lied tain ye intae th’ office an’ made ye a halpit 
partner on yer cornin’ tae these shores, th’ name o’ Snow¬ 
don wad hae flourished foriver—a name lippit by th’ 
business warl. But, God forgive me. A’ went wrang. Nae 
sae lang a way but by yeer halp A’ may turn back, ye gre’t 
braw, laddie. Gie us yeer han’, noo, Jamie.” 

“Havers! Quot yeer daffin for ’tis no feenished yit. 
Coom awa, an’ spak tae me nae mair like a Scot. Ye’ve 
dealt tae hard wi’ me tae lay doon th’ club sae soon an’ 
begin tae roob noses.” James turned and walked to the 
other side of the room, very austere in his bearing. Com¬ 
miseration for his uncle was beyond him. He felt he could 
never do better than to hold him as a dangerous dog with 
its teeth drawn. 

The old man looked injured. His love lozenges were 
not to be swallowed without first tasting for the bitter. 
His eyes sorrowfully followed his nephew. The Scot may 
forgive, but his memory is very lasting and pronounced. 
With a sigh for a past which he clearly saw time could 
never obliterate, he renewed his promise to close the bar¬ 
gain within a week and told James to keep in touch with 
him during the interim. When he had finished and had 
walked to the door, before departing, he turned and said, 


254 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


“Don't ye think, Jamie, ye’re a wee bit hard tae nae want 
tae forgive?” 

“Vines uptorn are .slow to take root again” was the 
bitter reply. And James turned and walked again to the 
window. 


XX Y 


WHAT NITROGLYCERIN DID FOR THE WILDCAT WELL 

Two stirring weeks had elapsed since the events nar¬ 
rated in the last chapter. During the time, James had 
become the incontrovertible possessor of the Barrens les 3 
the oil right. And as for that. Dame Rumor and Milt Cobb 
linked arms to make their rounds and report that old 
John Snowdon had next to sold out heaven and earth to 
buy it. In this they were not far from truth, for it had 
caught him in a time of great business depression. His 
grasping propensity often led him to inflate beyond his 
securities; then when times tightened he was destined to 
buffet against engulfing billows; but when his ark had 
weathered the gale and at last rode the waves in com¬ 
parative safety, his escape served each time to increase his 
vaunted belief that his business craft could never com¬ 
pletely capsize no matter how rough the seas which he 
sailed. Somehow he managed to flourish in apparent ag¬ 
grandizement on a rob-Peter-to-pay-Paul system. But now 
to right himself with the nephew he had wilfully wronged, 
he had been forced to surrender virtually all of his solid 
resources in exchange for the oil interest in the Barrens. 
So James had discovered that his uncle’s actual wealth 
fell far short of what it was reputed. 

Now, the Snowdons of Petrolia, according to Milton’s 
version of the matter, for he always had the knack of 
learning hidden facts, had collected their eggs and set them 
all under one hen. “What if she should leave the nest? 
That’s the conundrum,” Milton would end with every time 
he rehearsed the subject to ready listeners, which included 
every one he met. 

The day finally arrived when Snowdon and Son came 
to take possession of the oil well which accordingly was 
to be shot before starting to pump. With them came 
two automobile loads from Petrolia, one, a working gang, 
the other, gentry out for curiosity. By eight o’clock they 

255 


256 


THE BAEON OF THE BARRENS 


were on the grounds, the owners nervously expectant. 
Soon after their coming, Cad and Homer came idly saun¬ 
tering down from the cabin and seated themselves on the 
ground, disinterested observers, but got neither look nor 
nod from the arrivals. John Junior, with his pompous 
manner, was an object of much interest. He strutted 
everywhere in advance of all others, handling ropes and 
tools with kid gloves, feigning to know the use and condi¬ 
tion of everything. 

“I believe I could walk all over the cuss if he is as big 
as Goliath/ 5 said Cad with a touch of envy as he viewed 
young Snowdon’s powerful body. 

“Better let out the job to Jim,” returned Homer with 
unwilling admiration. 

Just then the Nubbin Ridge clan filed out of the bushes 
below the well and formed a battalion in the opening. 

“Has the shooter come ?” It was Crab-apple Jones, the 
boldest soul in the ranks, calling to Cad. 

“No. Better march your squad up on the hillside above 
the derrick. Get a better view up there and be safe,” was 
the answer. 

“Cause one drop o’ that thar plaguey stuff would blow 
us all to the seven blazes if it happened to go off this 
near us/ 5 agreed Jones, alive to the power and danger of 
glycerine. “Come on, boys. We 5 ll tack somewhere up thar 
on the hill/ 5 pointing with a crooked finger that indicated 
the ground just beyond his feet. 

The waspish Jones then led the curious, motley crowd 
of old men and boys past the derrick to a sane position on 
higher ground. 

Riley Henshaw next came rolling up with the Henshaw 
family. When the car came to a stand, his father stepped 
out but Miss Jerushy, of course, “alighted. 55 It happened 
near where Cad and Homer were sitting. She made a 
very deferential bow to them but kept her eyes rolled 
heavenward. She hoped that Mr. Allen was very well, 
for it seemed that she had forgotten the Christmas tree 
episode. Yes, he was very well and flourishing like the 
green bay tree. But Homer wondered how she saw them, 
her eyes still held to the sky. She trusted their lives were 
not in immediate jeopardy, but in this transient life one 


NITROGLYCERIN AND THE WELL 257 


could never tell just how soon accidents might happen, 
eyes still rolled up to show nothing but the whites. Cad 
crept over toward Homer. 

“Are we in time to see the spectacular spectacle?” she 
asked with anxiety. 

“If you look down,” replied Cad and crawled nearer 
Homer. She let her eyes fall and Homer clutched at Cad. 

“Wliere’s Jim?” Riiey asked. 

“In the cabin, asleep,” Cad replied. “Gone into a state 
of metamorphosis and doesn’t want to be aroused for a 
week. He’s been through some trying times you know and 
now that it’s over, he’s all in. When he comes out of it, 
you won’t know the butterfly with painted wings.” 

“Am I the only lady present ?” Jerushy asked, keeping on 
Homer her spectral eyes. 

“You have the honor of being the first lady ever to visit 
the Barrens. I believe I’ll have to go up to the cabin and 
rout out the Baron for the occasion. He should formally 
receive you.” 

“Please do not disturb him while in a somniferous state 
lest you brush some of the powder from his wings, you 
know,” she entreated while mischievous breezes played with 
the two fingery curls hanging over the high cheek bones. 

“Rushy, you an’ pap go up on the hillside an’ I’ll run 
the car up toward the cabin for safety,” said Riley, starting. 

Miss Jerushy turned to Pap Henshaw. “We’ll go up in 
there somewhere,” she said, pointing to a place above the 
road. 

“We’ll go up in the air somewhere, did you say?” he 
shouted back, placing a horn to his ear for, it will be re¬ 
membered, he was terribly deaf. “Yes, I know we’ll go up 
in the air if we don’t make for the hill.” Jerushy piloted 
him across the road and they were soon lost in the copse- 
wood. 

Hannibal Hayhow, the lumbering hill bully, had ap¬ 
peared and was circulating among the “upper ten” about the 
well, puffed with vanity at the idea of being in the swim. 
Chiefly, he dogged the footsteps of the elder John who 
seemed to be laboring to disguise the repellant feeling he 
had for him, tolerant only because Hannibal had been 
and might still be a useful factor, for there was Jim who 


258 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


yet refused to come into the league and might sometime 
have to be reckoned with. Therefore, he abided in the 
prowess of the redoubtable Hannibal, while James slum¬ 
bered heavily in the cabin, free of impending fates. 

From Blue Ruin, from Sunrise Valle} 7 , from Comfort, 
and from far beyond, curious spectators soon began to come 
straggling and hurrying up the road. They came on foot, 
on horse-back, in buggies, and in cars to witness the 
shooting of the Hermit Spring well. Great was the 
excitement in the wilderness. Last, but not least, old Milt 
Cobb, accompanied by Ted and Lark, came down the 
road from the cabin and joined Cad and Homer on their 
vantage-ground. 

“Barnum and Bailey with their livin' Hi-hoop-us ketched 
on the head waters of the Ho-ang-ho river never drawed 
a bigger crowd than old John has drawed this day with 
his wildcat well/ 7 said Milt, badly short of breath, as he 
sank down heavily on the ground beside Cad. 

“The shooter seems late/ 7 returned Cad. “Heard you 
paid off your mortgage, recently, Milt.” 

“Yes, an 7 I 7 ve come to the belief I was born with a 
silver spoon in my mouth, 77 chuckled Milt. “I kin meet 
old John now on terms of equality. He tried to lick me 
down in his office t'other day, but I was afeared he wmuld 
foreclose if I done him up a batch. Now Fm ready fer him 
to try it again sometime. 77 

The sound of wheels now came to their ears and arrested 
the attention of the anxious crowd—an oil well shooter 
with cans of nitroglycerin recklessly trotting uphill over 
a woods road. There was a general scurrying of all but 
the daring, up the hill in the direction of the cabin, without 
pause, till they came to a comparatively safe place from 
which they could plainly witness the effect of the shot. 

The stout-hearted oil well shooter! He ever faces quick 
death until he becomes nerve-calloused, perhaps, and thinks 
less of the deadly load which he handles than if it were 
the same bulk of bad eggs. Horses halted, he springs down 
from the wagon, hastily fills the case from the containing 
cans, then runs intrepidly to the well and drops it into 
the hole. His work finished, he whirls and runs back to 
the wagon and is off before the deep detonation in the 


NITROGLYCERIN AND THE WELL 259 


earth is felt and heard; perhaps turns his head to catch 
a glimpse of the spectacular mixture as it belches up from 
the hole—sand, particles of rock, water, oil, as the case 
may be, projected high above the derrick. 

Thus it came to pass in this case. The sight was awe¬ 
some! A jetty stream rose high in the air and spread 
and spread in an umbrageous cloud before the pulverized 
rock and sand began to fall in a pattering shower. The 
crowd came running back with loud hurrahs. Cad and 
Homer had not shifted their position from the first, but 
Milt and Ted had been among the get-a-ways. They now 
came back and Milt resumed his old position, but Ted 
ran with the eager throng to the derrick. 

It was noticed that the leaves of the bushes where the 
heaviest spray had fallen were dripping with oil of a rich 
amber color. Excitement ran high. There was a babel of 
voices. Oil under the Barrens and where might it spread! 
Everybody was ready to lease, buy or sell! A contagious 
oil fever had seized the Nubbin Ridge people. Crab-apple 
Jones knew that oil ran right under his farm. Jerushy Hen- 
shaw had had a dream the night before that their spring 
had turned to oil; thus she knew it was coming their way. 
One of the party who had accompanied the Snowdons from 
Petrolia, a grayish man with mein of wealth, offered 
John double the amount he had expended for the right to 
the territory. But Snowdon was not to be approached at 
this time and made it flatly understood. To his mind, 
how slowly, creepily the men now worked. Yet he main¬ 
tained self-control. The loose rock must be crushed at the 
bottom of the hole and a pocket drilled. Presently the 
drill was run down and began to pound. Time dragged 
on. Not till the noon hour had been proclaimed was the 
hole thought to be of the proper depth; and when the drill 
came up, it was very noticeably quite dry. Old John shot 
an anxious look at his posterity. It was returned in kind. 
Stock was falling. The sand-pump must make one run 
before their appetites could be satisfied. So down it 
went. When it rose and rested on the derrick floor and 
the valve in the bottom was opened to permit the escape 
of sediment and fluid, the faces of the Snowdons were com¬ 
parable only to those at rest in coffins. The emptyings of 


260 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


the pump showed smut but—“Not nuff oil there to grease 
my boots,” yelled. Crab-apple Jones. The nitro-glycerine 
shot had blown it all out of the hole. It was a duster! 

Snowdon, limp, sat down on the derrick door, his back 
propped against the forge, his chin resting on his breast, his 
face ashen, financially crushed. Young John stood looking 
down into the woods, blind and deaf to everything about 
him, beads of perspiration standing on his forehead. Jim 
lay peacefully sleeping in the cabin, unmindful of the 
scene below and the terrible retribution he had wrought. 
Had he ever thought of the weight of the blow when it 
would fall? It had been “an eye for an eye and a tooth 
for a tooth,” and the oculist and dentist had made perfect 
work of it. In what other or better way could he have 
attained justice? Kind reader, it is wholly left’ to your 
candid opinion to decide. 

A hush had settled over the sight-seers when the truth 
became knowm. If it were a joke, it was too huge to be 
appreciated at once. Presently, mumblings and smothered 
laughter began to be heard from various quarters. The 
Petrolia Snowdons had never been popular with the country 
people. Then someone suggested that they run the bailer 
again and see what it would bring up a second time. The 
Snowdons did not move. By this time the man who had 
offered the million was on his way on foot bound for Com¬ 
fort where he wnuld take the cars back to Petrolia, too 
confounded to rejoice over his narrow 7 escape. 

“Yes, run the bailer agin for mebby she’s gethered a 
head by this time,”—now came an emboldened jeer. 

“Mebby she needs primin’,” crowed old Milt from where 
he sat and had not moved since the shooting. His face 
w r ore an exultant look, his eyes constantly on the crushed 
pair. 

“Mebby the charge was so heavy it knocked the bottom 
out of her and the Chinese are usin’ the oil by this time to 
grease their pigtails,” was the wmrst that Riley could offer. 
He had affiliated himself wdth the Allen party up by the 
bushes where Cadmus with a grin of mockery on his face 
was the central planet around which a few satellites re¬ 
volved. 

It was then that Hannibal Hayhow rose to the fore. He 


NITROGLYCERIN AND THE WELL 261 


took a posture at a corner of the derrick where he could 
rest one hand on a leg of the structure. And when he 
called for attention from the throng that still loitered 
through curiosity and gave no signs of leaving, Cadmus 
was aware that the object of the address would be to 
foment trouble. He steeled himself and thrust his head 
forward to listen. 

“Fellow^ citizens/’ spoke Hannibal in a hoarse and 
omnious voice when all was quiet, “what have we seen 
pulled off here to-day? Why, you will say with me, the 
lowest, the meanest, the most damagin’ and killin’ trick 
played on an old gray-headed man-” 

“He kin dve his hair,” heckled Milt. 

“-that never has been nor could be equaled,” con¬ 

tinued the speaker ignoring the remark. “None but a 
villian of the deepest dye, none but a devil aided by a 
second-” here he looked straight at Cadmus who un¬ 

flinchingly met his eye—“could be guilty of sich an act 
and I very much doubt if the devil himself could have 
planned it. What has been done? What is the effect? 
W’y, an old man, stripped of his honest riches, changed to 
a beggar in the twinklin’ of an eye!” 

“ ’Tain’t so,” Milt heckled. “I’ve a hunk o’ johnny- 
cake waitin’ for old John at any time without beggin’.” 

Here Hannibal pointed to the subject of his humane 
remarks who had partially lifted his wilted head to catch 
the sympathetic words that fell, for in them might still 
be a ray of hope. “To rob his own uncle, to plan his ruin! 
I say Jim Snowdon deserves a rope,” Hannibal continued. 
“And let’s make him stretch one!” with an emphatic 
smack of his hands. At this John Snowdon’s head came 
up erect. John, Jr. was standing by and looking ugly. 

The Allen party were on their feet the moment the 
threat was uttered. “An’ hang the tw T o Johns on each 
side of him, then, for the two thieves if yd succeed,” 
yelled old Milt, his voice charged with challenge. 

“No, Cad Allen an’ old Milt Cobb,” Hannibal retorted. 

The crowd was silent. The notion was not popular with 
them. Few of them believed in mob law. Resides they 
might meet similar justice. Hannibal bid for one more 
chance. 





262 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


“You hain’t so forgitful, you don’t remember tbe per¬ 
formance at the Nubbin Ridge schoolhouse last winter, 
I hope. There the hounds rubbed it in on us for fair an’ 
we swallowed it. No one is safe from them. We will 
never know what is cornin’ next. I say we rid the country 
of ’em!” 

This, he thought, would sever Milt’s relation for the 
time with them. Virgil had now come down and was 
standing with the Allenites. 

The last plea did arouse an audible grumbling. Many 
of them were yet sore, inwardly, over that holiday event. 
Old wounds began to open. 

“I don’t b’lieve in hangin’. Anyway this hain’t our 
funeral. But a good lickin’ for the rascals to pay for the 
dance round the Christmas tree would be just an’ proper 
an’ teach ’em they can’t walk over Nubbin Ridge people 
in the fucher.” 

It was old Sol Faldin who spoke. And he was usually 
deemed the most respected and conservative resident of 
the ridge. There was an appreciable stir. Not all were 
aroused. The majority would remain spectators to the 
flogging unless something unforeseen drew them in. 

“Where is the head devil?” demanded Hayhow, starting 
in Cad’s direction. 

“Take for the cabin an’ raise the Baron,” old Milt 
spoke low to Cad. “The fight must not be here—singly. 
The rest of us’ll cover yer retreat an’ allow time to git old 
Jim limbered up.” Old Milt was loyal when it came to a 
show-down. “I’ll answer Hayhow’s question. Run now, 
ye infernal fool, an’ don’t be strippin’ yer coat here. We 
can’t fight ’em ’thout Jim!” 

“I’ll answer your question, Hayhow, you dirty sneaking 
knave, the tool of that pair of villains who defrauded Jim 
and have at last been beaten to a finish—hung with the 
rope they fixed for him. He is up in the cabin sleeping 
off the effects of several years of trouble and misery at 
the hands of his relatives. He has rendered unto Caesar 
that which is Caesar’s. Come on!” resumed Cad turning 
to Milt, “I’ll die right here before I run one inch from the 
miserable pack!” 


NITROGLYCERIN AND THE WELL 


263 


“So say we all!” said the powerful Homer, towering 
above Cad. 

A ring of the sturdy yeomanry of the hills closed around 
them, eager for the fight for fight’s sake. The Allen 
champions were to fight with their backs together. They 
were greatly outnumbered and, possibly, numbers would 
tell. 

“We’ll pound ’em up—kill ’em like snakes if we kin, 
then tear down the cabin and finish destroyin’ the den!” 
Hayhow ordered, making a rush for Cad. He mistook his 
man and was met unexpectedly by a lightning-like punch 
in the eye which sent him staggering back against others 
of his support, Cad wirily springing back. 

“Take that, my esteemed townsman,” yelled old Milt 
as he dealt a blow to Crab-apple Jones who had pressed 
too near and just as Homer dropped one for the same 
reason. 

The Snowdons had leagued themselves with the mob, 
John, Jr. revengeful in the front ranks, the older man, 
broken and bent, in the rear, taking a morsel of comfort 
at the thought of the price Jim would pay for his victory. 

“Watch out there, Riley,” warned Milt. “Art Bakeman 
has got a stone in his hand.” But he did not have time to 
use it before Riley felled him. 

“These tactics won’t work,” heatedly explained John, Jr. 
“They are at advantage in their block formation when we 
advance singly. Let the whole crowd make a rush, simul¬ 
taneously, the first rank drop down at their feet, the next 
rank work their heads and we’ll soon have them down.” 

“Oh, there’s old John! He’s come to again,” jeered Milt. 
“Hey, John! ye didn’t like the way the Mississippi bubble 
busted that ye blowed up fer Jim, did ye? I want to git 
one lick at ye afore this little pleasure exertion breaks up. 

Ye’re-” but he did not conclude his remarks. The 

further infuriated mob acted on the initiative of John, Jr. 
in one grand charge. The first in line were already duck¬ 
ing and grappling for the feet of the besieged, but at 
fearful cost, for the grunts and groans that escaped them 
were proof of the egregious kicks they had received in the 
fool-hardy move. Hayhow had singled out Cad for his 
victim and reached him through sheer force of numbers. 



264 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


Down went the valiant Cadmus, fighting like a Trojan, 
several on top of him. Not for long; Homer had escaped 
better. He drove a foot into Hayhow’s side which caused 
him to roll over with a groan. Then the whole crowd 
went down in one confused mass—kicking, striking, biting, 
old Milt loudly cursing above the uproar. Suddenly a 
wild, exultant whoop resounded near that would have 
curdled the blood of an Indian. “Here comes Jim!” was 
the shout set up by those who were not mixed in the 
imbroglio and so free to run. They never looked back as 
they fled past the derrick and down the road, for Jim 
Snowdon’s wrath might not be confined to belligerants 
alone they feared, but to those agape as well! and his was 
the blood of a dour and determined Scottish clan, prone 
to practice excesses in retaliation. 

It was Ted who had run to the cabin and wakened him. 
The boy had extreme difficulty in shaking him awake. 
He lay like a log benumbed. In his half conscious state, 
it finally dawned on him what the boy was screaming. 
“The Snowdons and Hayhow are goin’ to hang Cad down 
at the well!” Hang Cad? A sudden realization and he 
was very much awake! The light of wisdom born of 
maturity, the restraining power of civilization instantly 
vanished and the red demons of primitive passion seized 
him; his mentality harked back generations to a merci¬ 
less, revengeful people. Ted was loth to believe that it 
was Jim Snowdon who went tearing out of the cabin with 
blazing eyes like some wild huge beast goaded from its lair. 
If it was Jim Snowdon, it was Jim Snowdon gone mad! 
Then seizing a revolver and thrusting it into a holder 
as he had seen Snowdon do, he sped after him. But 
not a glimpse did he catch of Jim though he bounded 
down the road after him like a frightened deer. 

When James charged the combat-heap, he found both 
Hannibal and John, Jr. arrayed against Cad. Naturally 
their grudges had made Cad their objective. But due to 
the strength and athletic training of Homer and Virgil, 
there had been such quick changes of partners that none 
of the Spartan band were getting a steady beating. And 
Hannibal, early in the fray, had been partially rendered 
hors de combat from the kick. When Hannibal descried 


NITROGLYCERIN AND THE WELL 265 


Jim lining for him, he got to a sitting posture and pulled 
a gun from his pocket ; but before he could pull the trigger, 
the weapon went flying into the bushes—the kick that 
sent it leaving him with a broken wrist. Then James 
dashed into the pile. Up they rose (such as could rise) 
in a pell-mell get-a-way, some begging mere}', others pro¬ 
testing their innocence, for the Allen faction was up and 
after them in the rout. But the chase suddenly ceased 
when Cad loudly yelled, “Look at old Cobb and Crab- 
apple Jones !” 

It was a rendering of accounts of long-standing enmity— 
punishment meted out for deeds done in the body. They 
had risen, their hands clutched in each other’s long white 
beards. Now a yank, now a twist would screw their 
mouths around in the most grotesque of shapes while their 
eyes would bulge from the attendant extortionate pain. 

“Ye’ve alius been stealin’—from me,” panted the de¬ 
termined Crab-apple. “I’ve alius knew where that shuck 
horse-collar o’ mine went.” 

“It likely went—to pay for some o’ the hoop-holes—ye 
sneaked out o’ other people’s woods,” vehemently returned 
Malt, giving a strenuous downward pull which opened up 
Crab-apple’s mouth wide enough to swallow the proverbial 
whale and holding it till James loosened his hold and 
kindly advised old Crab-apple to follow his ilk. 

“I wan’t mixed in it; jest lookin’ on when the old thief 
struck me!” Crab-apple whimpered by way of apology 
to Jim, as he gladly accepted the advice and limped away 
in the wake of the exodus. 

The wholesale retreat had the effect of mollifying James. 
Hatless, he tossed the brown forelock out of his eyes and 
drew up his loosened collar. Hands on his hips he stood 
looking on the scene below him where his vanquished 
cousin was hastily cranking his machine to escape his 
hands. The older man had crawled into the car. Then 
the face of the Baron became a study. No sign of enmity 
lurked there. It had passed away. Instead came a look 
of sadness, as if willing to assume the price of his uncle’s 
atonement. Yet his face betrayed no remorse at having 
brought John Snowdon to judgment. “And be sure your 
sin will find you out,” it is written. 


266 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


“ ‘How are the mighty fallen. !’ ” Virgil exclaimed to 
break the spell, looking at the hurried preparations for 
an early departure. 

Then James with a hand raised as though in a truce 
to dispel the idea* of further hostility ran quickly down the 
hill where John, Jr. was turning the car. 

“One moment, please, before you go,” he entreated and 
John, Jr. granted the request but sat with averted head, 
doggedly sullen. The elder, defeated to a finish, finan¬ 
cially wrecked and humiliated, raised a hand that shook as 
palsied and spoke in a husky voice, “Now, you come to 
drive another nail into my coffin, I suppose. James, per¬ 
haps, I might have become reconciled to your move to 
throw me back the dross for which I took your father’s 
money. But this last act! Why did you not tell me all 
after I had made reparation and spared me this?” waving 
his hand toward the wildcat well. 

“Because I did not go to a confessional when I signed 
the paper that granted you a right,” replied James, look¬ 
ing uprightly into the steel gray eyes from which the fires 
of greed were now r all burned out. “Besides, your Calvary 
would not have been replete without the crown of thorns. 
You have paid the debt in full measure. You suffer now 
as my father and I have suffered at your hands. You go 
now clean-handed, I trust, to begin life anew. I bear you 
no ill-will as you leave me to-day. I have finished.” 

“Dan, the avenging angel,” snorted John, Jr. and started 
the car. 

“Take me home, Riley,” wailed Jerushy Henshaw now 
crashing out of the bushes. Riley hurried her away. 

“And the last big fight over the Barrens was fit out in 
a real old dog-fashioned way,” wheezed old Milt, when 
James came back to join the “Allen Clan.” Milton was 
busily engaged making necessary repairs on his tattered 
costume before he could hope to travel. Then with fun 
wrinkles around his eyes he added: “I think old Crab ’ll 
have to do some patchin’, too, afore he emerges into the 
clearin’. Use leaves likely.” 

“Never mind. Milt,” said Cad. “When we get to the 
cabin, I’ll drape you with one of the Baron’s most elaborate 
mantles to make your triumphal march into the open.” 


NITROGLYCERIN AND THE WELL 


267 


“Come on, boys,” invited James, suavely, taking the lead. 
“A dinner, then an after-dinner cigar in the cool shades 
may tend to turn us from brutes to men again.” 

“What’s that?” It was Cad who spoke. They stopped 
to listen. 

“That, sir, is a blast from the Hiilside-Mooney’s horn 
on yonder hill,” declared Milt, stoutly. “Big changes are 
soon to foller.” 

The revival of Milt’s legend of the hills caused an ex¬ 
change of winks. Ted, however, kept closely to James 
the remainder of the way to the cabin. 


XXVI 


AFTER FIVE YEARS 

Since the finish of the “wildcat well." years had come 
and gone till five were passed. Not only had fleeting 
time carved many changes on the face of the Barrens, 
but it had been an epoch-marker as well in the lives of 
many of the characters familiar in this homely tale of the 
hills. “Brevity is the soul of wit.” Therefore we employ 
the sentiment to advantage and briefly recount events. 

The railway company of the trunk line had at slight 
depreciation relieved James of the stock which he held 
in the “peg-leg” road through the deal with his uncle. 
James in return had granted a free right of way for the 
new road to traverse the Barrens. The “Branch” followed 
the defile up Hazel Fork; and when the hill in the divide 
had been tunneled, vast deposits of coal were revealed un¬ 
derlying the gaunt rock-ribbed hills. Then sprang into ex¬ 
istence, much as the mushroom rises in the night, the 
mining town of Snowdon in the vale below Hermit Spring 
and on the hillsides. 

What of Jean MacCrea? Of Jim and Jean and Cad, 
caught in the meshes of a triangular love plight? It had 
been no passing heart affair to be turned aside lightly—to 
be solved and satisfied. Heartaches born of love pale those 
born of other griefs. It was at a time when James could 
see no happiness for any of them as things stood that he 
stepped aside and left for the oil fields of Oklahoma. 
Back from there he sent his blessing with an assurance 
to Jean that she would never regret marriage with Cad. 
But the happy pair were not quite happy. The sacrifice 
of James cast a shadow over both. Naturally the very 
announcement of the conjugal ties stirred Auntie Mac¬ 
Intyre to wrathful tears. That was all. She held her 
tongue. But when Jean had gone from the house for the 
last time, every room was darkened save the kitchen where 
Auntie betook herself and existed on a single cup of tea 


AFTER FIVE YEARS 


269 


for a day. To the inquiries of consoling neighbors her 
answer was unalterable: Jean had married a “woods-heck” 
to live in a cabin and rue the day. 

Jean had gone with some misgivings to Hermit Spring 
to live, first in the cabin which James had left open for 
them until the very modern bungalow could be attached— 
also James’s specification. It had been his wish that they 
go there after he had made Cadmus manager of all his 
eastern interests. He had also placed mining stock in 
the way of Cadmus which would in time place the Allens 
in affluence. 

The house now stood completed with all its modern 
innovations, the grounds beautifully gardened. There 
was the fountain pouring from the base of Big Ben; 
the miniature lake, a mirror of sylvan shades; fern-bor¬ 
dered paths under arched trees festooned with the wild 
grape-vine and woodbine. Though Snowdon Park was be¬ 
yond the sound of maddening throngs, it was not isolated. 
For from below, came the sounds of throbbing life from 
the mining village and the locomotive screaming through 
the valley. 

After five years. 

“Cad, I can endure life here no longer.” 

Quietly Jean had come out to the little summer-house 
where Cad lounged, resting before his return to the office 
at the mines. She stood close beside him before he was 
aware of her presence. 

He sat up and knocked the ashes from his briar pipe. 
“Yes, Jean,” he replied, his voice deeply sympathetic. He 
did not raise his eyes to meet hers. He had been expecting 
this. Soon after they settled down at Hermit Spring 
she had changed from her accustomed happy mood. That 
he had noticed. Hot that her love for him had grown colder, 
but she had saddened. Why, he had not exactly known but 
conjectured. He had been the most devoted of husbands, 
granting her every wish. True he had been engrossed with 
business demands much of the time; but to keep the house 
enlivened they were rarely without guests from Petrolia 
when she herself had not been absent from home. He now 
sat in silence, waiting. 

James Snowdon Allen—Jamie—a sturdy three-year-old 


270 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


with sunny hair and mischievous eyes came running after 
his mother with faithful old Lark, and his little cart. 
From the folds of her dress, he began a game of hide-and- 
seek with his “daddv-bov.” Cad raised his head without 

\j %• 

meeting Jean’s eyes and held his arms out appealingly 
to the little fellow, still maintaining silence. 

“Not that I”—Jean faltered, unconscious of the child 
at play, “not that I"—her voice failed her. 

“Not that I love Allen less but Snowdon more,” he in¬ 
terpolated, not accusingly, but deeply compassionate, as if 
he alone had committed an irreparable wrong by entering 
into the course of their lives. If the words were poignant 
with bitterness for Jean such was not the purpose. She 
had chosen unwisely between them and this was the price 
of her decision. 

Hesitating she stood in sweet defiance; her chin quivered. 
“Not that I have reason to complain of life here, Cad,” 
she faltered, catching up the thread of unfinished thought 
in seeming disregard of what might have been intended for 
a probe. He had taken Jamie into the hammock with him, 
the child heedlessly throwing leaves down at the dog. 
“Oh, Cad, why did we come here, blind fools that we were! 
Any place but here where every object wears an accusing 
face to remind me of him.” Her hands fell and her face 
turned white. “Take me, take me from this place forever, 
Cad, lest—lest your unborn child bears the accursed mark 
of one of these mock faces of the Barrens!” 

Before she had finished he was at her side and caught 
her as she was about to fall. “Don’t, Jean,” he entreated 
and I’ll take you away from this hated place today—any¬ 
where you wish to go—today, Jean.” 

“Don’t call it hated, Cad, for after I am gone from here, 
memories of the Barrens may call him back to them.” 

He took her arm and gently led her back toward the 
house. Little Jamie and old Lark followed, the dog draw¬ 
ing the cart. “I see it all now, Jean,” he ventured as they 
walked slowly along, after she had grown calmer. He 
bent his head and kissed her. “It is clear now, clear as 
day. The artful Snowdon, again! He knew the place 
would haunt you. He bound us to it with sham kindness. 
The Barrens figures as a place to suit all his purposes. 


AFTER FIVE YEARS 


271 


The Snowdons of Petrolia met his revenge here. Now, we. 
But, Jean, dear heart, we will defeat him yet. Once away 
from here you will love me again, love me as you did 
before we fell into his trap.” He kissed her again. 

“Please don’t speak of him that way, Cad,” she pleaded. 
"I believe he would lay down his life for us. You, Cad; 
think of what he has done for you. Look at your position 
at the mines. How could we ever become so ungrateful 
as to believe him false?” 

“The gods first woo whom they destroy. And from this 
little scene here today I judge he has about succeeded. 
But we'll defeat his purpose yet—if purpose it is. We will 
move.” 

“Where to, Cad.”—her lips trembling. 

“You must say, Jean.” 

“Then to Petrolia, for a time at least. I know of a 
homey little cottage for rent or for sale right beside Aunty 
MacIntyre’s.” 

“And that old hen to finish me up,” he interrupted, 
laughing so in his old buoyant way that she could not 
take offense. 

After he had left her seated on the veranda to return 
to his office in the village, she watched him till he passed 
down over the hill from sight. Tall and strong and hand¬ 
some, he had changed since their marriage and become 
more manly, sobered with cares—and she? Her eyelashes 
quivered and the mists rose again. Why had her love 
for him gradually died? She had striven to hold the last 
spark but that, too, had gone out. Was it from mere 
shallowness? At the outset she had loved Cad with 
that passionate love which is apt to be temporary and 
changeable. Her feeling for Snowdon was of slower 
growth—not a surging of the senses, but a love for his 
attainments, his ideals, his stability in a world of transi¬ 
tory tests. 

“Oh Cad” she sobbed helplessly, “why was it not mani¬ 
fest to me at the time. Dear Jim! To him I owe every¬ 
thing but existence. I have made three hearts miserable. 
Well, Cad knows me now in my true light and instead of 
spurning me, he pities. We will go from here, and sights 


272 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


to keep Jim constantly before me will be removed. Then I 
will live faithful to Cad though it eats out my heart.” 

She drew a deep sigh but not of relief. Just then the 
nurse-girl came to her and woefully announced that Jamie 
had knocked down the bird-cage and killed the songster. 
It was a mocking-bird that James had sent them from 
Oklahoma! 

Hidden within the deep shadows of a rhododendron 
tangle that grew near the border of the lake, had lurked 
two men while Jean and Cad had talked over their diffi¬ 
culty. Much of the conversation had been audible to the 
pair. z\fter they had watched Cad leave the house and 
disappear down the hill, they stealthily crept out and, after 
making a careful survey of the premises to make sure no 
one was within sight, they stole to the water’s edge and 
lay hidden again in a rank growth of cat-fails and sedges. 
They were poachers. One of them, middle-aged and well- 
dressed, bore the earmarks of a city sport out for recrea¬ 
tion. The other was every inch old Milt Cobb, wearing 
that same old raccoon smile. 

"I tell you, Cobb, I feel small in this sort of business,” 
spoke low the city man. He eyed the water and demurred 
at adjusting tackle to begin. 

“I stocked this water, I tell you, Shonts, without pay 
an’ I’m only takin’ my own share. I take this way to git 
’em without a jaw. I detest quarrelin’,” irritably re¬ 
sponded the crafty Milt as he dropped in his hook. He 
soon brought out a speckled beauty that settled it with his 
more scrupulous companion who now dropped in, hoping 
for equally good luck. 

After thev had fished for some time in silence with fair 
«/ 

success and the novelty had worn off somewhat for Shonts, 
he spoke low. “My, but that girl was a ripping beauty! 
She must be in some deep trouble, though, with that 
fellow.” 

“Shet up, damn ye, if ye expect to ketch fish. Loved 
Snowdon ’n’ married Allen,” Milt grumbled. 

Shonts was curious to know more. “Seems as if the 
unlucky fellow has broken her heart since with kindness.” 

“Exactly that. I’m goin’ to write him that he’s cooked 
up another pair on the Barrens. He’s sharper ’n a hook. 


AFTER FIVE YEARS 


273 


Now shet up, will ye. If Allen happens back V ketches 
us, he’ll throw us both into the pond/’ 

It happened just as forecasted. Old Milt started to 
rise at a noise behind him when he was sent headlong 
into the water with a “souze.” The other had barely risen 
when he, too, went under without baptismal rites. Cad 
had been coming back to Jean with a message, too glad 
to use the ’phone, that he had secured by wire the cottage 
which she craved in Petrolia, As he crossed the Park, he 
had smelled tobacco smoke which aroused his curiosity and 
he had stolen around the pond to find the Isaak Waltons 
busy at work. He coolly picked up their basket of fish 
and hastened away without a word. 


XXVII 


BACK TO THE BARKENS 

When news of the Texas oil finding first spread abroad, 
James Snowdon of Oklahoma had been among the early 
adventurers to arrive in that field with an eye to exploita¬ 
tion. He secured holdings which had proven prolific. 
Added to the Oklahoma oil production he already possessed, 
they increased his wealth by leaps and bounds. With his 
increasing riches, his generosity widened accordingly. 
Back in Pennsylvania the miners of Snowdon village dwelt 
in contentment due to his unstinted philanthropy. And 
there was the case of his vanquished relatives in Petrolia. 
He had not left his uncle in disgrace and poverty, but had 
secured for him oil interests in the West which started 
him on the road to fortune again, this time fairly found. 
And now old John, in his westering years, was living in a 
prairie town, in comparative comfort; and surely with 
clearer conscience than during his fleece-shearing time in 
the East. 

It was midday, and Snowdon had just bowled into Tulsa 
from Texas. Tulsa was his homing town when busines-s 
did not call him to other fields. Begrimed with the sands 
of the plains and bronzed by winds, he alighted from his 
car and hurried into the hotel and to his suite. A bath 
and a change from dusty clothing served to revive his 
drooping spirits for his arrival was fraught with disap¬ 
pointment; he had expected Ted there, home from Yale 
to meet him. He ordered his mail and dinner sent up to 
his room and in the seclusion of his den he began on the 
large file of letters before the conclusion of the meal. The 
first was a brief note from Ted. He would be home 
Thursday. Snowden anxiously glanced at the calendar. 

“Tomorrow,” he audibly commented and the look of 
loneliness on the grave, handsome face brightened some- 

274 


BACK TO THE BABKENS 275 

what. He took up the next letter and tore open the seal. 
It read: 

‘‘Nubbin rige, 21st of June, an’ a hot 
one, A. d. in the year of our Lord. 

“Deer fren Jim— 

“Not heerim from ye for a coon's age, I take my pen 
in hand to reknew ol’ acquaintance an’ let ye no the inside 
workins of some of the dewins way back home. 

“Ye remembere Ed Shonts of Petrolia ? He an’ I went 
fishin’. We had splendid luck, ye’ll agree, for while we’s 
hidin’ under the laurel by yer pond, waitin’ for Cad to git 
away—ye see he was takin’ his rest in a summer-house by 
the pond—wal, Jane she comes down for a heart to heart 
talk with ’im and we heard their hull trouble. She don’t 
love ’im Jim, an’ who could? She’s crazy she didn’t git 
you, I think by her talk. She sees ye in ev’rv thing about 
the place; ye han’t her like, and ev’rything wears a mockin’ 
face because she turned ye down. They’re goin’ to move 
right away. He thinks ye fixed ’em up there a purpose 
so’s the sight of everything will hant ’em. Yes, they’re 
goin’ right awav—hook ’n’ line, to town an’ leave Snowdon 
Park forever. Wal, if ye did set ’em up there in the fine 
style that ye did, to throw coals of fire on their heads, 
ye’ve succeeded beyond yer fondest hopes, I assure ye. 
Jane would give her eyes to change husbands, but she’s 
doomed. 

“What luck did I ’n’ Ed have? 0, after they’d gone, 
we got at it, but Ed couldn’t keep his big mouth shet nor 
keep from smokin’ V Cad come back up from Snowdon fer 
suthin ’n’ heard us ’n’ smelt the smoke ’n’ slipped up on 
us ’n’ dipped us. Ibby laffed. 

“I went to meetin’ last Sunday in the skoolhouse. Elder 
Wilder filled the pulpit in his able manner. He took his 
text from the forty-twoth chapter of Eye-brows. 

“Wal, Jim, it’s gittin’ late ’n’ I can’t see to rite very 
good, so I’ll seek my hay. 

“Call when ye come home. I’ve bilt a new pig-pen with 
dubble floor an’ three pertitions. Looks first strait. 

“Yours in deep distress. 


276 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


“Milton Cobh Esquare. 

“P. Q.—The liill-side mooney is a tootin’ of his horn agin. 
We may look for big events. Milt. 

“P. Q.—Jerushy Henshaw is dead. She died when the 
moon was at its full. She was resigned and said she wan’t 
a feared to make the supreme sacrifice. I attended the de¬ 
votional exercises for the departed. There was lots of 
flowers V good music. But I had sich an awful headache 
I didn’t enjoy myself very well. They sure did gin Jerushy 
a beautiful ride to the berryin’ ground an’ everything paid 
up. An’ that makes me think how thankful I am that I’ve 
got miff laid by so’s when I go I can be berried without 
passin’ the hat. 

“Milt.” 

Snowdon’s fingers relaxed at the finish, and the missive 
dropped to the floor. Old Milt was prone to equivocate, 
but a psychological conviction warned him that old Milt 
was telling the truth. He ordered the unfinished dinner 
removed, then rose verv much unnerved and threw him- 
self down on a couch, his face buried in his hands. 

“I feared the day would come,” he groaned, “when she 
would awaken and realize Cad is not her mate. Had she 
but waited the coming years of riper mind when ideals 
are stabilized! But it is not given youth to wait. Yes, 
Jean, you are no longer a girl with your heart on your 
sleeve but a woman now to know and suffer. Well, I 
did the right, the only thing. I was not fit to mate with 
radiant youth; besides I am not sure but that the best 
within my heart is buried forever beneath the clods in 
a kirkyard. But they played fair with me. I am sure 
they never would have wedded had I not left the field to 
them and extended my blessing. Jean may have thought 
it was my heart-felt wish. God knows and pity her—pity 
them both! And they believe, he believes, that I, adroitly, 
managed to place them where scenes would forever call 
me back to her mind and alienate her love. Has there 
been a devil in it and I the instrument, No! It mattered 
not where they were. It was bound to happen. Well, I 
only know there are three sore hearts today; and to¬ 
morrow?-” 



BACK TO THE BARRENS 


277 


"A telegram for you, Mr. Snowdon.” 

The voice was in another room where a messenger boy 
had stepped inside from the hall, unannounced. Snowdon 
sprang up to meet the call. The lad, cap in hand, handed 
him the envelope. James paid the charges and the boy 
promptly departed. 

Snowdon broke the seal. 

“Jean and Cad seriously injured. Come immediately.” 
Signed by Riley Henshaw. 

He reeled and clutched at a chair for support. From 
his frame on the wall Abraham Lincoln looked down with 
the deep eyes of a great soul, in pity. But not till several 
minutes later when the clock struck two, did Jim rally. 
Only half an hour to make the train that would start him 
on his way back to the place where he had purposed never 
to return. At the warning of the clock, his strength re¬ 
turned and his one thought now was to get there as soon 
as possible. He tore around like a mad-man, unthinking 
in hurried preparations. 


XXVIII 


“and it shall come to pass that at evening time 

IT SHALL BE LIGHT** 

That a spirit was soon to take its flight "was plainly told 
by the unnatural light that shone in the eyes of Cad Allen. 
His passing was coming at a time when the sun in golden 
glory was sinking beyond the distant Barrens which could 
be seen from the window of the room where he lay in the 
Florence Nightingale Hospital in Petrolia. His mind had 
been clouded till now; but at last after days of suffering, 
all mists were cleared away. Bolstered up with pillows, 
he could look away to the hill-tops of the Barrens, bathed 
in the sunset, a scene that he had loved so well. But soon 
there came a questioning look in his eyes as he turned 
them to meet those of Mother Maclntvre who had been 
summoned from another ward, where Jean lay unconscious 
much of the time. She had come to comfort him, and when 
he asked for Jean, it was to wring her heart afresh. 

With a hand clasping his, she began in tremulous voice 
which threatened to break at every word, “There, my poor 
laddie, dinna worrit for Jean. She may be wi’ ve veerv 
soon, noo. Xo much o’ th’ time she kens what’s aroond her 
an’ juist calls, calls for ye, laddie. What may be on her 
min’, A’ cannae tell; but she’s savin’ tae come back tae her 

for noo her love is deep again,-” he listened feverishly, 

“tae come tae her for she lo’es ye v r i’ a new love she neever 
felt afore. That she has been the cause o’ yeer—veer deith 
an’—an’ then she prays tae God tae dee hersel; an’. Oh, 
laddie, if what she says be true—Oh, it cannae be—what 
means it—A’m crazv wi’—th’—thought: but A’m thinkin’ 
she’ll be wi’ ye veery soon, noo.” 

At the foot of the cot sat Biley and old Milt, their 
heads bowed in their hands. Not a day had passed that 
they had not come to the hospital personally to inquire. 
From the first, Bilev had had grave apprehensions for 

278 



IT SHALL BE LIGHT 


219 


Cad‘s recovery. Today when they had been told that the 
patient could not survive the night, they had waited. At 
times old Milt had carried petty grouches but when it 
came to death, his grief was truly pathetic. And Riley 
found himself utterly broken down at the final struggle, 
for his love for Cad had been a brotherly love. 

‘‘And, Jamie—where—is my boy,” Cad falteringly asked 
of the old woman as if fearful of the truth. 

“Oh, laddie,” moaned old Elspeth MacIntyre, swaying 
back and forth for that was the question she most dreaded, 
“th’ bairnie is—is just a short time afore ye tae th’ Land 
o’ th’ Leal where ve'll meet again an’ God will wipe awa’ 
all tears. Xoo, be brave, laddie. Jean aften telt me hoo 
gude am kin’ ye waur tae her an’ th’ bairnie, an’ A’m 
wi’oot a doof that God will tak’ ye tae His bosom. But 
why couldn’t it hae been auld Elspeth MacIntyre who is 
bent an’ auld tae gae an’ spared ye for a useful life tae 
come, A’ woonder. But He kens weel, am onv way, yee’ll 
be but a short time afore us at the maist. But A’d gie my 

life gladly tae spare ye, laddie, for—for-” she utterly 

failed on the word Jean. 

The expression on the face of the dying man had 
changed. His Jamie, his idol, the little boy who always ran 
with skipping feet to meet him had suffered and proceeded 
him in death. He remembered now how by the impact of 
the collision of the cars the child with his mother had been 
thrown down an embankment; then the rest had become 
oblivion. A perfect peace now came over him, a hope of 
meeting 1 his child in a happier land. And, then, another 
thought! Jean! His lips parted. He could only gasp and 
wait for strength to speak again. Mother MacIntyre’s ear 
was at his lips! What she caught was: “Tell Jean—and 
Jim—my wish—was—that they—that they-” 

“Oh God!” groaned the old woman, “hoo can auld 
Elspeth.” But at the look of pain that stole across his 
face she nerved herself again, her frame shaking. “Yes, 
laddie, juist for tae please ye and for nae itlier reason 
wad A’ try tae yoke theem thegither,” she finished bitterly. 
Then she added to herself, “Ave ’tis a beeter cup tae taste 
—match making ower th’ deid.” 

Riley now came and stood over them, with blanched 




280 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


face, too agonized to speak. It was Cad’s will that had 
made him assistant superintendent of the firm operating 
the Barrens. It was to Cad he had ever turned for advice. 
And Cad’s indulgent smile was the nearest approach to 
reprimand that he had ever received for any blunders com¬ 
mitted. As he looked down on that face, smiling even 
in death, he collapsed utterly and sank down beside the 
bed, a burly, convulsive heap, his face buried in the bed¬ 
clothes, and sobbed in free abandonment to grief. 

A tall, somber shadow now came swiftly from somewhere 
and bent over the sorrowing forms. Cad’s glassy eyes 
turned up to the stranger. Instantly he was possessed of 
renewed vitality. Striving to raise one feeble hand he 
uttered the glad, startled cry of “Jim!” 

Down beside Riley Jim sank and grasped both Cad’s 
hands within his own. Was this the Cad whom he had last 
seen in the flush of manhood ? Fast friends they had been 
and the cord had been severed by a human event over 
which neither had any control. There had never existed 
any animosity between them. Recurrent thoughts brought 
no bitterness, only a tinge of sadness. Their eyes locked 
and Jim’s mind reverted quickly back to the yesterdays 
when Cad, a happy, irresponsible boy, had linked fortunes 
with him to remain forever steadfast through weal or woe. 

“Dear old—Jim !—Will you—carry me back—to the—?” 
Cad gasped and could say no more. 

“Yes, Cad, to the Barrens,” was the husky reply as 
Jim’s hands gripped tighter, “there to sleep in the place 
we loved so well; there both will await the Judgment, 
together.” 

The peace that replaced the look of anxiety on the 
face of Cad Allen was proof that James’s answer had re¬ 
moved all doubt from his troubled mind that the ties of 
their friendship had ever been broken. But the moments 
were fleeting! His head began to roll on the pillows. 

“Jamie—Jean, where are you? Oh, I see you now,” he 
said. “It grows so dark. Yes, Jamie boy, I am coming. 
Isn’t the way beautiful! Yes, Jean, you are—reaching 
out your hands to me now. I see you. How I loved you, 
Jean! You were a lamp unto my feet and you were true.” 


IT SHALL BE LIGHT 


281 


“les,” said Jim softly. “She could be nothing else, 
dear laddie.” 

“I never intended—bad,” the voice went on. “I never 
tried—to cheat,—nor lie; I didn’t fight—only to save my¬ 
self; I didn’t throw old Milt—into the pond—to be mean.” 

“He ought to drowned me,” whimpered old Milt, shaking 
violently. 

“And I am—not afraid!” bravely cried the dying man. 

“He was as innocent at the last as a baby!” cried old 
Milt from the depths of his heart. 

“Yeer dyin’ a graun’ deith, laddie,” moaned old Els- 
peth, “an’ A’m free tae tak’ the waurd tae Jean yeev gang 
tae God.” 

Now his breath came shorter. One gasp—and the spirit 
of Cad Allen took its flight just as the sun dropped beyond 
the Barrens. 

The nurse, her eyes on the floor, moved softly about 
the room. Soft strains from a harp came from somewhere 
across the street. Old Elspeth MacIntyre was slow to go. 
And after she rose to her feet with Jim’s help, she stood 
silently looking at the sleeper, his face so peaceful in death! 
Then she turned away, wiping her eyes, and moved slowly 
out of the room, followed by Biley and Milt. Jim remained 
alone with the dead. 


XXIX 


BACK TO SCOTLAND 

Old Elspeth MacIntyre knew she was nearing the end 
of her days. Her physician had settled that question in 
her mind. He had given an evasive answer when she had 
pointedly asked if it were not time to set her house in 
perfect order. True, he had not told her there was im¬ 
mediate danger; but she would not have been startled 
anyway. Death was a purely business matter with her. 
To be right with the world and love the Master’s Word 
had been her creed and she was fearless of the Judgment. 
Why wish to wait longer when most of her friends were 
across on the other side. She welcomed the hour when her 
tired hands would be folded on her breast for her last long 
rest. That was always her answer to Jean. 

It was in old Elspeth’s home that Jean Allen had been 
fostered back to something like life. It was due to old 
Elspeth’s logic that she had gained the belief that life yet 
held an urgent call for her again. The old woman's 
manner was austere but convincing. A year and over it had 
been since she had w’rought this change in Jean; had 
persuaded her to live for others if she did not care to live 
for herself. At times when the past would come down 
upon her like an overwhelming avalanche, grim old Elspeth 
would maintain with much pathos of voice and a mournful 
shake of the head that “the Lord loveth whom He chas- 
teneth” and bid the girl go about her work with the heart 
of a Christian soldier instead of a craven deserter. For 
Jean had volunteered as a worker in social welfare in the 
dark tenements of Macaroni Alley. 

Then when old Elspeth could go about no more, she 
would anxiously await the hour for her devotee to return 
from her mission work. But as time shortened for the old 
woman, Jean ceased her errands of mercy and gave her 

282 


BACK TO SCOTLAND 


283 


time solely to the comfort of one whom she loved, “with 
a love that passeth all understanding.” 

Old Elspeth’s children were with her almost constantly 
now, dreading the hour when they would be bereft. Ten¬ 
derly they watched over her, but tonight she had asked 
to be alone with Jean for a time. At the call, Jean came 
from her room where she had been resting. Trembling 
down the stairs she crept in the belief that the end was 
coming. Old Elspeth sat bolstered up in a chair, her 
wrinkled face as white as the pillow against which it lay. 
She raised her head when Jean entered the room. Jean 
assumed a cheery smile and after kissing her seated herself 
by her side, fondly taking one of her hands. The nurse 
went out, leaving them alone together. 

“A’m gang awa J , Jean,”—Jean choked back a sob while 
the clasp of the old woman’s hand tightened—“veery soon, 
noo, but dinna greet, chiel, for A’ lang tae be at rest. A’ 
can nae dee wi’oot A’ discharge a sacred duty, a promise 
A’ made tae th’ dead. A’m gang tae tell ye, noo, some 
o’ tlr last waurds that fell frae th’ lips o’ yeer gude laddie 
juist afore he left this warl.” Jean was all aquiver but 
bent her ear closer to catch the feeble words. “An’ A’m 
sure he spak them frae his heert.” Here the old woman 
paused as though troubled about what she was to tell. “He 
got frae me th’ promise A’d—tell ye he wanted ye and 
Meester Snowdon tae be marrit. It w r as accordin’ tae hees 
wish, Jean.” Jean’s head had dropped on her bosom 
and though the room was bright with the firelight, to her 
everything had grown dark. So Jean did not hear old 
Elspeth to the end. 

Three days later when the bell from the belfry of St. 
Cyr was tolling the years of Elspeth MacIntyre’s span of 
life, Jean Allen, crumpled and white, half lay in a reclining 
chair by the open window, while each muffled stroke smote 
her like a knell of doom. She had suffered a nervous 
breakdown which forbade her following the remains to 
their last resting place. Oblivious to any future, she only 
knew now that the people were slowly moving out of the 
vestibule, many to go their ways and soon forget, while 
a few sorrowing friends would follow on across the river 
and out to Greenwood where the earth had opened to 


284 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


receive the dearest, the truest friend she had known since 

she left her native land. Yes, Jean Allen unequivocat- 

ingly felt this, forgetful of one who that day, moved by 

commiseration of heart, had come from the Barrens to 

witness from the background the last sad rites paid to the 

kindly spirit who had ministered to those whom he loved 

most of all earthly friends. It was so long since she had 

seen Jim Snowdon, that the gulf she herself had widened 

between them, caused her to forget him in her misery. 

True, he had taken Cad and her little boy back to the 

Barrens and placed them in a mausoleum on the hillside; 

but the expense would be defrayed, she thought, from the 

estate. When she had gone out to visit her dead on the 

days set apart for the keeper of Snowdon Park to come 

to the vault and unlock the iron gates, she had never seen 

James, whom she sought to avoid. Thus in the blindness 

of her sorrow, she little dreamed he was standing outside 

the church door at the moment, watching the funeral 

cortege as it passed, seeking to catch a glimpse of her. He 

was aware she was living in a state of melancholy. People 

had told him that. But whatever her dreams, he would! 

never present himself in her path to disturb them. Let 

the tide bear them separately out to sea and if they drifted 

together again, it would be the will of Fate. 

# ^ 

One morning, while seated on the veranda at Snowdon 
Park, James noticed by the Petrolia paper that Mrs. Jean 
Allen, of Chestnut Avenue, would soon sail for Scotland, 
the land of her nativity. 

He whistled for the dog and started out the by-path that 
led down around the hill to the vault. 

“Back to Scotland. ? Tis a bonnie land to turn to when 
one is heartsore,” he sadly mused as he stopped to pluck 
some orchids that grew in a damp, shady place by the 
way. “Time eliminates all things; but it is slow in the 
lives of some.” He looked at the handful of the rare, 
beautiful blooms he held, remembering they were the only 
flowers that he had ever seen Cad notice; then he slowly 
sauntered on, his thoughts shrouded with the past, and 
repeated from sad memory, the stanza : 


BACK TO SCOTLAND 


285 


*' ‘Ye banks and braes o’ bonnie Doon, 

How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair; 

How can ve chant, ve little birds, 

And I sae weary fu’ o’ care? 

Thou’lt break my heart, thou warbling bird, 

That wanton’st through the flowering thorn; 

Thou mind’st me o ? departed joys. 

Departed—never to return !’ ” 

Presently he reached the level opening in the growth 
on the steep hillside. The vault was just back of it in the 
great gray rock softened by the warm green of moss where 
the hill rose abruptly steep. His step was slow and soft, 
for to him it was a deeply hallowed spot. He had come to 
visit the dead, alone, and to place the orchids by Cad. 
First he walked to a thorn tree and sat down on the 
ground beneath it where he loved to grow reminis-cent. He 
was now left alone. Even Ted would not be with him any 
longer. Ted had finished his university course and was 
abroad now for voice culture under foreign masters. And 
Jean—impossible! He was suddenly roused from his reverie 
by hearing the dog bark in the bushes near the vault, for 
a cry had come from that direction. Now it was repeated, 
scarcely audible, but longer drawn! He leaped up and 
reached the shelter of a plum and grape cover and crept in 
with no slight trepidation. With scarcely a sound he crept 
on through till by peering out he could see beyond. There, 
kneeling before the gate with upstretched arms resting 
aganist the heavy iron grating, was the figure of a woman. 
Her face was upturned, but from him, and the heavy 
crepe veil she wore reached to the ground behind her. 
Beside her, was a basket of flowers. He waited. 

“Oh, Cad and my bonnie bairnie, I will not cease to think 
of you when I am in a foreign land/’ her tremulous voice 
began, “but I will return again; and w T hen the time comes 
—and speed the day—for me to take my rest, if I cannot 
rest between you, I hope it may be very near. I do not 
know what leads me back to Scotland yet a voice bids me 
go; but I will come again/’ Here Jean Allen turned her 
face at a sound from behind her. Jim Snowdon, impelled 
by an irresistible power, v T as walking toward her. 


28*6 THE BARON OF THE BARK EFTS 


She sprang away and wildly gazed at him as though she 
were seeing him for the first time. 

“Jean, surely you cannot refuse to let me share your 
sorrow, for our sorrow is in common/’ he imploringly 
began as he held out his hands toward her. 

“I cannot refuse your mission/’ she sadly and evasively 
replied as she stooped to pick up her basket. “I thought 
1 would lay these flowers at the gate for I am going far 
away. I knew the keeper would not be here today and 

I only thought to-” here her voice failed her and she 

turned her face toward the vault. 

“Jean, I have the keys. I came, too, with flowers. May 
we not go in together and share our grief,” he pleaded, 
taking a step toward the gate. 

“I cannot refuse one who comes on the same sad mis¬ 
sion,” she answered mechanically. 

The answer pierced his heart! It was to be Jean Allen 
to the end and never the Jean of former days. He un¬ 
locked the gate and slowly swung it open. The creaking 
sound caused her to clutch his arm for support. He took 
one trembling hand in his and they entered the arched 
ante-chamber, the walls and floor plastered with gray 
cement. He then took her basket of garlands, added 
his own, and set them down on the floor. Then he pro¬ 
ceeded to open the solid iron door of the crypt proper 
which swung back, grating on its hinges. His next act 
was to pull a cord opening an air shaft connected with a 
fissure in the rock somewhere at the farther end of the 
cavern. This would correct the atmosphere of the closed 
place, somewhat, in a short time. While waiting, he turned 
and ventured a glance at her again, and thought of a 
pale wood-lily, trampled and crushed. She gazed at noth¬ 
ing, saw nothing—dumb in her sorrow. He now regretted 
opening the vault. It was only to open wounds anew, he 
felt. But now he must go on. 

“Wait till I enter first,” he said. 

He took the flowers and left her. After he had lighted 
a large, burnished oil-lamp, standing on an altar of stone, 
which shed a pale glow over the gray walls, he returned 
and took her by the hand and slowly led her to the caskets, 
then paused between them. 



BACK TO SCOTLAND 


287 


She took flowers from the basket and tremblingly strewed 
them over the dead while Jim divided his token of love 
and did likewise. Then began the plaint, old Elspeth 

had most dreaded. “Oh, I am the cause of all this!” she 
cried. 

“No, Jean! It is not true! I must speak to you but 
not in the presence of the dead. Come.” There was a 
tremor in his command which stirred Jean's shattered 
trust. Their eyes met—his pleading, pitying—and the 
haunted look left hers. She felt assured he sought to 
challenge the cause of her affliction. Let him pass upon it. 
He would speak truth. If in his judgment the burden 
fell upon her, then let the smouldering fires rekindle and 
burn on until her being was consumed. His faith and 
strength would enable him to judge aright. 

“Yes, Jim, I will hear you after you know how deeply 
I am at fault,” she tearfully faltered. “There is a seat 
outside. I must rest.” 

After the vault had been closed and they were seated 
in the pure air and sunlight he looked at her squarely and 
took the lead in the ordeal. “Your love for Cad failed you, 
Jean, though you struggled against it.” 

She returned him a quick look of wonder and asked, 
“How came you to know this?” 

“You came to regard Snowdon Park as a torture, a 
constant reminder of me, and when you disclosed this to 
Cad, he suspected I had schemed to alienate your love.” 

“How can you know ?” she gasped. 

“Milt Cobb overheard your conversation that morning 
by the pond.” 

She leaned back in her seat, covered her face with her 
hands and relapsed into painful silence. 

“Yes, I blundered, Jean, in starting you out in married 
life at Snowdon Park. I blundered.” His voice evinced 
sadness but yet was firm. “All through the course of life, 
we blunder, apparently; vet whatever happens, is it not the 
plan mapped out for us ? If it was wrong for me to place 
you at Snowdon Park, does not the burden fall upon me? 
Jn your helpless flight you were overwhelmed. Then, if 
you were innocent in your purpose, you are held guiltless. 

“No one is more wretched than I,” he continued, for 


288 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


she made no reply. “Cad was to me something more than 
a friend. Yet I do not deem it right to allow my blunder¬ 
ing share in his death to wreck the remainder of my life. 
Your little boy! God does not give such precious gifts. 
He only lends. At His own disposed time He calls for 
a return. You seem to assume that the child was taken 
to punish you. Punish you for what?” At the question 
she still maintained a silence and he continued: 

“To mortals, power is not given to create love nor yet to 
quench it. It was Cad’s wish as well as yours to leave the 
Barrens. It was by his chosen way, his car, that you were 
leaving. How are you accountable? Let only those pay 
penance who deliberate death.” 

At the close of his talk, she still sat with bowed head, 
unconsciously fraying the lace on the edge of her hand¬ 
kerchief. Her downcast face had lost none of its set 
palor. There w r as a silence for a few moments unbroken 
save for the sound of busy life in the valley below. Since 
her attitude seemed unchanged, he looked at the ground, 
■wondering whether he had not spoken truths too bruskly, 
said things that pained. 

It was she who broke the silence. “If you know that 
I did not love Cad at the last, it does not follow that I 
do not love his memory.” 

“And that can never die if memory clings to you as it 
does to me.” 

He rose for she began to make ready to depart. 

“Did you come up through the growth from Snowdon 
alone?” he asked. 

“No. I have friends -waiting for me below here with 
a car. They are gathering flowers while I take my 
farewell,” she replied with clearly felt appreciation for his 
concern, in her voice something of its old-time friendli¬ 
ness. She kept her head bowed while she gave him her 
hand but he felt a warm tear fall on the clasp. Still 
without meeting his eyes, she turned and walked slowly 
away. When she had neared the edge of the thick growth 
below, he called, “Jean, will ye no grant me juist anither 
waurd afore ye depart tae tak ? yeer lang, lang voyage.” 

She turned and in her own sweet dialect answered, 
“What, be it, Jem? Is it tae bring ye sprays o’ heather 


BACK TO SCOTLAND 


289 


plucked frae tlT hills aroond yeer ain hame ? Or tae veesit 
the kirkyard an’—an’ lay soom o’t ower th’ heids o’ theem 
that sleepit far frae yeer ain care? A’ve lang had it een 
ma min’.” 

“Baith,” he answered disconsolately and watched her 
slowly disappear down the hillside. 


XXX 


AMERICA 

Jean Allen’s flight over the sea yielded no heart-balm. 
Years had wrought changes in the familiar faces of her 
childhood days; thus she found herself virtually among 
strangers, though they were kind and welcomed her hack. 
Scotland is a bonnie land of woody glens, clear lakes and 
heathery moors, and the bag-pipes still shrill on the keen 
Highland air. Jean wandered wide and loved it all, yet 
the cramped environments which kept the people strug¬ 
gling for thrift, soon set her pining for free and 
unrestrained America. Though obscurely, this longing 
was imparted to James in the letters he frequently received 
from her. When at length one came stating that, strive 
against it as she might, her face would ever turn toward 
the West, it was then that the Baron with all the eagerness 
of a romantic lover sent a letter flying back, asking her 
to come back to the Barrens—and to him. When she did 
not flatly answer no he sailed post-haste for Scotland and 
summarily brought her back. 

When they reached Petrolia on their way home to the 
Barrens the news of her return went flying broadcast. 
And Uncle Milt Cobb came in for his usual share of 
notoriety while spreading the intelligence. 

Old Milt and Crab-apple Jones had been mortal enemies 
for a matter of twenty years, over what in the beginning 
had amounted to no more than a straw, -when the time 
came that old Crab-apple began slowly to yield to an 
incurable malady. His family and friends were troubled 
lest he fail to make his peace with all the world ere he 
dropped out. At the time of which we write, he had granted 
amnesty to all belligerents save old Milt. The humiliating 
memory of the fight at the Hermit Spring oil well, most 
tenaciously stuck and would not down. Milt, now waxing 
very old, was hoping for pardon and he conceived it to 
be a good time and a good way to walk over across the 

290 ' 



AMERICA 


291 


woods and suddenly apprise Crab-apple of the coming of the 
“Baroness/ news which, he felt quite sure, would mollify 
his ancient enemy. The whole country would welcome the 
event when the papers came out, but Milt yearned to be 
ahead of the local times. It was early morning when the 
impulse seized him and he set off for the Jones stronghold 
in high spirits. When at last he emerged into Crab-apple’s 
clearing he was arrested by what appeared to be a vocifer¬ 
ous altercation going on between deep bass voices in the 
apple orchard somewhere beyond the house. This seemed 
omnious for a peace conference, but, undaunted, he sum¬ 
moned courage and bolted on. When he arrived at the 
open door, Mrs. Jones answered his loud knock and coldly 
answered him no; that the noise he heard was not the 
bulls fighting but came from Elder Wilder and Mr. Jones 
who w r ere out under an apple tree back of the house wrestl¬ 
ing in a salvation argument. 

“What ’pears to be the hitch, Mis’ Jones?” he concern¬ 
edly asked, fearing possibly he might be the stumbling 
block. She seemed pained with his visit and loth to 
bid him enter. 

Contracting her brows gloomily, she answered, “Oh, 
Jones wants to see works. He won’t agree to surrender 
himself up unless Elder Wilder raises the devil in some 
way—I do’ know what he means by it—before his very eyes. 
Come in,” she continued, growing apparently less fearful of 
a scene should Crab-apple return and find his enemy. 

“Raise the devil! I want to know!” exclaimed old Malt. 
As she turned away, he walked in after her and took a 
proffered seat in the corner of the kitchen. “Does Elder 
Wilder, in order to regenerate Crab, have faith that he 
kin raise the devil?” he musingly asked. 

“His belief is that Jones can’t choose his way of redemp¬ 
tion. Got to drop all of his old whims; can’t dictate his 
way of receivin’ salvation. Jones is so sot in his ways,” 
she regretfully concluded. 

“Mebby the Elder’ll find some way to raise the devil yit 
afore it’s over,” mirth twinkling around his eyes. 

For an answer she set the tea-kettle down on the stove, 
very hard. “I hear ’em cornin’.” 

Voices indicated that they were coming slowly along the 


292 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


path by the side of the house; and when near the open 
window, they halted in a heated difference of sentiment. 

“Raise the devil so’s I may see him or his image, then 
as soon as I wliup old Milt Cobb I’m ready to b’lieve! 77 
Crab wilfully protested. He had passed the open window 
and w r as standing near the door. 

“Forgive Milt an 7 I will raise the devil!” bellowed 
Wilder in voice akin to the roar of Niagara Falls. 

“He owes me fer a shuck horse collar he stole twenty 
years ago; then he pulled my whiskers out fer lookin’ on at 
"the fight at Hermit Spring. Got to give his whiskers a 
twist. ‘An eye fer an eye an 7 a tooth fer a tooth, 7 means 
whiskers, too. Elder. 77 

This threat from her still unregenerate spouse raised 
Mrs. Jones to a state, verging on hysteria. But it takes a 
woman to meet perplexing emergencies. She remembered 
the large box filled with feathers which stood behind the 
door. To this haven of safety she feverishly guided Milt, 
who, too, was nervously shaking in anticipation of a fight. 
“Jump in quick 7 n 7 Fll cover ye over with feathers, 77 she 
hissed, “ 7 n 7 wdien Jones gits out agin you k 7 n sneak off. 77 

None too quick was the action, for barely had the nerv¬ 
ous Mrs. Jones, desperately turned to her dishes again, 
when Crab, followed by the tenacious and sin-dispelling 
(Wilder, entered the room. They took chairs and the war 
against sins unto death was revived. Elder Wilder had 
brought the campaign to the kitchen, hoping to enlist 
Mrs. Jones in his struggle with perversity. 

“He would allow the loss of a handful of hair and an 
old horse collar to consign him to everlastin 7 fire, 77 lament¬ 
ed Wilder. 

“Wall, I’ll give in on the Cobb part of it, bein’s I might 
git the worst of it. Then you’ve only to raise the devil 
7 n 7 I’m your meat. 77 Crab had yielded in the letter, but 
still clung to the spirit. 

Wilder rose with a deep, desperate sigh. Something 
must be done to convince this foolishly perverse old sinner. 
He was sure that Crab-apple’s concession was pure inven¬ 
tion to foil him. Necessity and self-defense impelled him. 
He walked to the stove and opened it. He then took up 
the fire-shovel, lifted a blazing brand, turned and hurled 


AMERICA 


293 


it into the box of feathers! A flare of flame flashed over 
the box. A scream from Mrs. Jones and a form leaped out 
of the fire and smoke and rushed out doors, leaving a trail 
of singed feathers, while old Crab, in bewilderment, yelled, 
“You’ve raised ’im! I b’lieve ev’rything now from Genesis 
to Revelations!” 

Elder Wilder had parted the vines and stolen a glance 
through the open window as he passed it at the opportune 
time to catch a medium which would thwart old Crab- 
apple’s obstinancy. 

Excitement was running high around the Jones resi¬ 
dence—Mrs. Jones, in her dilemma, ringing the dinner 
bell, the “work-folks” running in from the field—when 
Milt gained the edge of the woods, badly “out of breath.” 
He stopped and ventured a look back. Old Crab-apple, 
bareheaded, was standing in the yard looking in his direc¬ 
tion. Old Milt waved a farewell, then started on, saying, 
“Out of ev’ry calamity comes lastin’ good. He’ll have to 
jine the meetin’ now or else break his word. In my hurry, 
I plumb neglected to tell ’em the Baron of the Barrens 
was married an’ cornin’ home with the Baroness. Tell ’em 
the next time I’m over.” And his racoon smile was never 
broader as he sank deep into the scrub oaks. 

Simplicity marked the home-coming of the Snowdons. 
Quietly and unattended they arrived at Snow'don Park; 
then began wedded life, much as though it had been a 
long and natural routine. Jean desired no attention and 
no press notices. Her only desire was to dwell humbly all 
the rest of her days and give her time and resources to 
welfare work, mercifully remembering those who were 
afflicted and less fortunate in possession of this world’s 
abundance. This purpose had been settled between her 
and James before their marriage. 

And the beneficient works of the Snowdons multiplied 
as time glided by. There were the gala days for the labor¬ 
ers of the valley. There was the free hospital and the 
nurses for the sick. There was the Union Church, the 
Community House, the kindergarten, the moving picture 
play-house, the domestic science school for the girls, the 
trades building for the boys—all dividends from resources 
were converted, by the Snowdons, into philanthropic works. 


294 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


Old Milt Cobb often proclaimed it was not written for Jim 
Snowdon that “it is easier for a camel to go through the 
eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the 
kingdom of God.” For Milton, waxing old, received multi¬ 
fold blessings from James’s bountiful hand. 


AFTERMATH 


After an epoch of five years it was summer again at 
Snowdon Park. The elevation of the place rendered it a 
cool resort in which to pass the warm summer months. 
So the Snowdons realized and they were back again. To 
the family had been added the rollicking twins, Jean and 
Cad, and wee toddling Jamie, learning his first steps. 

The evening was beautiful, and Jean had strolled away, 
unnoticed, leaving the youngsters, the nurse and the dogs 
in a riotous gambol over the grounds, to meet Jim who, she 
knew, would be coming down from the farm. Up the path 
past Big Ben she soon came to the drive which led, at a 
slight ascent, through the birches. When the open was 
reached, she paused. Before her, the broad acres of meadow 
land and waving grain stretched far away to the east. 
To the right, in the great orchard the boughs hung down, 
laden with ripening fruit. Farther up the drive to the 
left, was the dairy house and the great barns—all this in 
place of the barren waste which James had found, years 
before, upon his arrival in America. 

A soft whistle startled her. It came from the orchard. 
She turned to see her husband coming toward her with a 
basket of the first ripe apples of the season. 

“What was the work today, Jem?” He was clad in 
overalls. 

“I followed the reapers and binders with the best of 
them.” 

“And supper ?” 

“I had the best ever at the dairy house.” 

She took a shining red apple from the basket as he 
came up. “Ye’ll no quit wark, gin ye were as rich as 
Croesus,” looking at him proudly. 

“Lab or are est orare” he smilingly replied. 

“The meaning, for my Latin is always lame, Jem.” 

“Labor is worship,” he answered. “Let us sit here and 
rest,” dropping down on a rustic seat beside the drive. 

295 


29 6 


THE BARON OF THE BARRENS 


Seated by his side, she removed his straw hat. “Yeer 
growin’ gray, Jem,” she said in tones of sadness. 

He pulled her to him and kissed her. 

“But A’ve sillery threads in mee ain locks, Jem,” she 
sweetly added by way of consolation. 

“They’re honorable gin they crown honorable heids, are 
locks ’o gree, lassie. We’ll nae disdain them.” 

The glimmering landscape was fading into darkness and 
the stars were blinking out. An owl hooted from the thick 
top of a scraggy pine that stood below them where farm 
and forest met. 

Jim smiled. “I found something in that old pine-top 
one day, Jean. You remember Milt Cobb’s favorite char¬ 
acter, the Hillside-Mooney, that I’ve told you about. Milt 
got hold of a great tin horn, large as a cannon. Then 
{he cunningly attached a great, flaring, conical tin-sheet 
to the mouth-piece, to catch wind, and hung it with 
wire in the dense top of that tree. When the wind 
blew fiercely from the right quarter, the horn was apt 
to give a blast. No one ever approached the tree, for the 
heaps of- rocks at the base make it difficult to get near it. 
I was led to it one day by the crows circling and cawing 
around it.” 

Jean laughed outright. “What in all this world was 
the old wag’s purpose?” 

“That, linked with the story, was to frighten people 
away from his huckleberry patch just below there on the 
hillside.” 

Then was Jean nearly convulsed with laughter. “A 
legend!” she ejaculated. “And every legend must have a 
foundation. And when the kiddies are past the bogy 
age, we will relate to them the legend of the Hillside- 
Mooney! But what was the man, with fiery hair and 
whiskers, running through the woods?” 

James laughed again. “Old Milt. I came upon him 
one day at practice in his regalia on the hillside. He was 
as fleet as the deer.” 

“And the pumpkin that you shot at through the win¬ 
dow ?” 

“That part remains a mystery even unto this day. TJn- 


AFTEEMtATH 


297 


doubtedly it was Milt. He has been a great actor.” He 
grew serious and added: 

“The other day I sent him to Hayhows’ with a whole 
hog to pay for that ham. Come, let us wander down the 
hill, Jean. The dews are falling.” 

“And some day ‘we’ll sleep thegither at the foot’,” she 
said with pathos, taking his hand. 

“Aye, Jean,” he responded, reverently. 

“Beside th’ ither sleepers we lo’ed sae well,” she added 
tearfully. 

“Aye, Jean.” 

Under the stars they walked on in silence. And the 
night was holy. 


The End. 





































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